


You happened to me

by meowrails



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Doctor Strange (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Library, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Misunderstandings, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-07 13:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8803429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowrails/pseuds/meowrails
Summary: Wong works at the New York City public library. Everything changes when a homeless man comes in and asks for a very specific genre of books.*In a brief hiatus*





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I want to clarify that this fic takes elements from marvel 616 Stephen and Wong, as well as elements from their dynamic in the film, so feel free to imagine whichever version of the pair you'd like.
> 
> For anyone who doesn't know, Imei was Wong's fiance in the comics. 
> 
> Updates will be sporadic, as life sometimes gets in the way of shipping, but hopefully I can post something every two weeks.
> 
> If you have any questions you can find me on twitter (@shitlockposting) 
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated! :^)

  
In all his years living in New York City, and working in its public library, Jason Wong thought he had seen it all. The old, the young, the sane and the crazy -- sometimes the occasional masturbator trying to hide in the romance section. Apart from those rare instances, that happened more than they should in the City that Never Sleeps, Wong learned early on that his job would uneventful. Demanding, underpaid, and not interesting enough to impress anyone, but he enjoyed it either way. It suited him, in a way.

Turned out he had been entirely mistaken.  
  
It all started when a bearded, homeless looking man walked into the library, tapped his shoulder and asked a question that would change both of their lives forever.

"Do you have a magic section?"

A very ridiculous question at that.  
  
Wong blinked, eyeing the man's tattered, dirty parka. "I'm sorry?"  
  
"Books about... magic and spells," He started, he didn't seem quite sure about what he was asking for. "Non-fiction, maybe self-help books would be nice. Probably anything you have on tarot reading and wicca would be good too." The man was nervous, hopefully not because he wanted to _take care of any business_ under a table. His hands were clasped behind his back.  
  
_What a weirdo._  
  
"Um, I'll see what I can find." Wong moved to the front desk, followed closely by the stranger, who kept looking down and fiddling with his hands. Once Wong found a few books that might suit suit the man's needs, he wrote him down a list of where he might find each book. He handed the customer the list and was about to leave him to his own devices but stopped at the sight of the man's hands.  
  
The customer obviously noticed him staring, "An accident." He said flatly, this was clearly not the first time someone had stared at his injuries. He would only see his scarred fingers, his palms were covered in bandages.

Wong eyed the list instead, cursing his rudeness. "Will you be all right carrying and handling the books?"  
  
The stranger looked down and fell silent.  
  
Wong understood and nodded, "Okay. Wait right here and I'll get them for you." Usually he wouldn't help this much unless it was an older client, someone who was disabled, or a child, he had other things to do and the dewey decimal system couldn’t be more straightforward, but he walked all over the building and back back to the table where the man was sitting with a pile of books in his arms. The homeless man had not moved and widened his eyes when he saw the selection of about a dozen books Wong had brought him.  
  
"I don't think I'll be able to read all of these today..." He mumbled, carefully taking the first one off the pile, one about the basics and history of Wicca, and opened it to the first page. "Thanks."

“I thought you would like a lot to choose from, you can check out any you are interested in.”

The man flipped through the first book. “Can’t take out a library card right now.” He shrugged, “I don’t have an address.”

Ah, that explained a lot.  
  
Wong nodded and took it as his cue to leave. As he walked away, he heard the man say something under his breath.  
  
"This is all horseshit."

  
Wong didn’t know what to make of it.  
  
Despite his words, the man stayed in the same spot the entire day, reading until they closed for the night. They left together, said their awkward goodbyes, and walked in separate directions.  
  
Imei enjoyed the story of the strange man who was so keen in learning about magic. They had a good laugh about it over dinner, and Wong thought it would just be a silly memory from work he could tell to his future children one day.  

  
  
~*~

  
  
As it turned out, the days that followed were exactly like the first. The homeless man would be waiting outside when the library opened, according to Zelma, who had the early shift. Then he would leave with Wong and any other students who were racing to finish an essay or thesis, and they would repeat their now somehow still awkward daily routine.  
  
Wong had to admit to himself that the first time he saw the man he was sure he was just another crazy person who lived in New York City. But as he watched him read every book with intense concentration, sometimes even speed reading through two books in a day, Wong couldn't help but wonder what had lead the man to read them and what exactly he was up to.  
  
"Should we kick him out?" Wong blinked and glanced at his co-worker, remembering that he was supposed to be focused on the computer in front of him.  
  
He turned to Zelma, "No, why would we? He isn't doing anything wrong. Or illegal."  
  
"Yeah but he stinks. And don't you think his reading choices are a little suspicious?"  
  
"He could use a shower... But he's not sitting near anyone. They're just books about magic, it's not like he asked for a copy of the Mein Kampf."  
  
Zelda laughed, "At least if he had asked for _that_ I would know a little but more of what he's up to. I'm just saying that 'cause some old lady came by to complain that he was reading something about 'Chaos Magick' and wanted us to call the police. And a priest."  
  
"We are not doing either of those things," Wong huffed. "He only read through one of those sorts of books but only really skimmed it. I think he's more interested in the actual practical guides. And the history."  
  
Zelma studied him for a moment, "Have you been staring at him this entire time? No wonder why you've been so slow these days."  
  
Sometimes Wong wondered why he even spoke.  
  
Zelma was about to ask something else when a student arrived, asking for her help, leaving Wong forced to keep trying not to look at the strange man that sat across the hall. 

 

~*~

  
  
A week passed and Wong have had enough, his curiosity was eating him up. The library mostly empty, he took this as his opportunity to take his lunch break. But he didn't plan on eating.  
  
He placed a bag in front of the man, it didn't take long for him to figure out what was inside it.  
  
"I don't need your pity," The stranger said, though his eyes kept darting toward the bag.  
  
"I'm not giving you my pity, I'm giving you some food." Wong quipped, the man did not seem amused.  
  
He took the bag from him with shaking hands and cautiously started to open one of the bowls.  
  
"Not in here!" Wong hissed, "Come, we can eat outside."  
  
They sat on the steps in front of the building in silence. Well, the man was too busy stuffing the lunch Wong had given him like he was starving. He also had to eat with his hands. Wong wasn't surprised or disgusted and simply waited until the man was done eating.  
  
It wasn't until he had finished eating that the man had finally realized what he had been doing. Wong only gave him a smile and handed him a bottle of water, gesturing at the man's beard, which was covered in bits of rice.  
  
"I--... That was delicious, thank you." He said and gulped down every last drop from the bottle in a matter of seconds.  
  
"Is it alright if I ask for your name?"  
  
The man’s shoulders are still tense and upright. "...Stephen. My name's Stephen."  
  
"Stephen, I'm Wong. Nice to properly meet you."  
  
Wong held out his hand for Stephen to shake and immediately regretted the decision, his hands were sticky and covered in chicken. He made a face, wiping his hand on his jeans. Stephen did not look offended in the slightest, he was pretty sure this was the first time he heard the man laugh.  
  
The tension from before seemed to leave the air as they sat in silence for the rest of what was left of Wong's lunch. Stephen washed his hands and went back to reading, Wong went back to work, but when they left together at night it was clear that they wanted to say more. Instead, they stood next to each other outside the doors, wondering who would break the silence first, and ended up walking their separate ways as per usual.  
  
When he got home, he found that Imei had decided to cook that night.  
  
"I thought it was my turn today." He said, slipping into his native tongue with ease.  
  
She smiled. "It was, but I was hungrier than usual. Sit down, it's almost done."  
  
He did, taking off his coat before he sat in silence as Imei hummed a song in the background. She served their plates and they ate, Imei did most of the talking that day. Something about a co-worker she didn't like, Wong wasn't entirely sure, his mind kept drifting off and thinking about Stephen. She noticed, she always did.  
  
"Is something on your mind or am I just being boring?"  
  
Wong widened his eyes, "No! Of course not. Just distracted that's all."  
  
She frowned at him in feigned anger. "It's that homeless guy you keep talking about, isn't it? What did he do now?"  
  
"Nothing, it's just..." He shrugged, "He's interesting. We talked today a bit during lunch. Well, I gave him my lunch."  
  
She thought for a moment, "There's enough leftover food for three lunches, you can give some to him tomorrow. We can make some extra food whenever we can afford it."  
  
Wong smiled back at his wife and wondered how he was lucky enough to live his life with such a kind woman.  
  
"Besides, I'm always saying that you should make more friends." 

 

~*~

  
  
While Stephen had turned down the first few lunches that Wong gave him at first, he always ended up taking them anyway. It only took him four days of eating together and Stephen would already be looking at him expectantly minutes before lunchtime like a puppy looking at a chew toy. It wasn't always that Wong could bring him lunch but when he did, Stephen was clearly grateful.  
  
"I gotta find a way to repay you," He said as they both ate in the stairs. "It's just hard to find a job right now and-"  
  
"I like helping," Wong interrupted. "I told you, you don't have to give me anything in return."  
  
Stephen bit his lip, "I'm not used to people doing that — being nice to me."  
  
"Because you're homeless?"  
  
"Well yeah, that and I used to be an asshole back when I wasn't."  
  
Wong perked up at the answer. "What did you do before?"  
  
Stephen looked like he wanted to talk about anything but that particular topic. "Like I said, I was an asshole. I took advantage of a lot of things, a lot of people. I don't want to be that person anymore. I don't want you to think I'm taking advantage of your kindness."  
  
Wong shook his head, "I don't think that way at all, Stephen."  
  
Stephen gulped and looked away, bringing his hands to his face. Wong knew he was most likely crying, he didn't comment on it. He simply waited until the man composed himself again. "You obviously don't know me that well if you think that." His voice shook as much at the hands in his lap.  
  
"You don't think you're a good man?"  
  
"...No."  
  
Stephen's started to toy with the watch on his wrist.  
  
Wong's curiosity was buzzing. He needs to know what happened. Usually, he wouldn't try to press on about the subject and would let his curiosity and questions rest until they were forgotten. But this was different—there was something in his gut telling him that he was _supposed_ to be here talking to Stephen, as if the universe itself had brought this man to his life for... Something.  
  
"Then let me get to know you." Wong rested his hand on Stephen's shoulder, "We can go out for a drink. Or a walk."  
  
Stephen smiled softly. "I'm sorry, I can't. Not tonight, at least. I actually have to go now. But soon, I promise we can talk more soon."  
  
Wong nodded, "Can I ask one more thing?"  
  
Stephen had already began walking away when he turned around to face him. "Ask away."  
  
"Why magic? Why Wicca and witches and all of those books?"  
  
The man chuckled, as if he was thinking of a joke. "That's a story for another time. I have to go, I have to meditate."  
  
And with that, Wong was alone in the steps, watching the citizens of New York walk past him, wondering if anyone knew who the hell Stephen was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wong googles Stephen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i reread the oath so now ive just been picturing that version of the boys
> 
> Also, this fanfic is now officially sponsered by starbucks. And guilt.

Stephen didn't come to the library for two days after that and every passing minute had Wong more stressed than the last. There were two possible outcomes that came to his mind: either Stephen had grown uncomfortable with Wong's kindness and nosy questions and didn't want to come back, or something had happened to him. Big cities like these aren’t kind to the homeless.  
  
A person entered the door, Wong tried to hide his disappointment with a stoic face when it isn't Stephen. Zelma noticed and gave him with a worried look that he didn't.   
  
This wasn't like him. Wong usually didn't get so worried over instances like these. He was a grown man with a happy life and wonderful wife, he didn't need to preoccupy himself with a man whom he just started to talk to.   
  
And yet, it was all he could think about.   
  
When Stephen did finally come back, the first thing he noticed is that he showered. And had a new, slightly cleaner jacket. He still looked like a homeless man, but now he could also pass as a hippie. Or did they go by hipsters now? Wong didn’t bother catching up with either of those trends.   
  
Stephen waved at him and went to find his books, now knowing where each other is located by heart. When he came back, Wong lips curl up ever so slightly.   
  
"You look better today." He said from behind the front desk.   
  
Stephen shrugged, he looked pleased at the comment but not entirely happy. "I got a job. Well, some odd jobs. Scrubbing floors and breaking some rocks. Took a little of the money I made to get myself clean and buy something better for the winter."   
  
The librarian raised an eyebrow, "A little? What do you do with the rest? Buy food?"   
  
He then realized how nosey the question was and bit his lip, regretting it immediately. Stephen, however, did not seem insulted in the slightest.   
  
"It's not drugs, if you're wondering."   
  
"I-I'm not-"   
  
Stephen gave him a half smile, "I'm buying... supplies for my studies. Sage, tarot cards, rosemary, flowers, candles—lots of candles actually. I'm planning on actually _buying_ books soon whenever I can as well."   
  
Right, witchcraft and magic. Wong had forgotten about that last part.   
  
"I'll explain it all to you soon. How about during lunch? I can buy my own food this time, promise."   
  
Wong gave his friend a genuine smile. "All right."   
  
"Good, let's go to Starbucks."   
  
Stephen somehow managed to continue to surprise him.

  
  
~*~

  
  
Wong took a sip of his pathetic excuse for tea and grimaced. It would have to do, he wasn't much of a coffee guy anyway. Stephen noticed his expression and laughed as he took a swig of his coffee, looking like a castaway who hasn't drank water in days.   
  
"Oh, how I missed coffee..." He said, sighing happily. "I used to come to here during my breaks all the time back when I worked at the hospital."   
  
Wong saw an opportunity to finally ask Stephen what he wanted to know. "You worked in a hospital?"   
  
"Oh, right..." He looked as if he forgot why they were there in the first place. "I was a Doctor, neurosurgeon, actually. A successful one and a good one too. Long story short, I got into a car accident, broke my hands and lost everything."

That was certainly a simple way of putting it.  
  
Wong was sure there were gaps in the story Stephen didn't want to tell him. Or didn't want him to know about. Either way, he didn't press the subject any further, satisfied with what he was told for now.   
  
But he continued, "I'm getting better at magic thanks to your help," he said with a shy smile.   
  
Wong forced himself to hold back a laugh. "Oh really?"   
  
"Spells are the easy part. I'm teaching myself how to astral project but I fucked up by drinking this coffee. I was technically supposed to be fasting right now, I can just start over tomorrow." Stephen shrugged.   
  
"You're... doing spells? With what, a wand?"   
  
His friend frowned, "Don't be ridiculous. I'm using candles at the moment, it's all I can afford. Once I get the money I'm going to try using gemstones."   
  
Wong didn't want to be rude, but this was the most far fetched thing he'd ever heard. Still, if it made Stephen happy, there was nothing he could say. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have his own superstitions and beliefs, but there was a lot to be said about a man of medicine and science desperately resorting to magic. "What sort of gemstones?"   
  
Stephen held up a fingers and looked through his backpack for a small notebook. Wong noticed that the front pockets were filled with different leaves.   
  
The handwriting in the notebook was abysmal, considering Stephen's condition. Somehow his friend could still read it. "I need seven different green gemstones, or at least pieces of them. And I have to do it on a full moon, obviously."   
  
Wong cleared his throat. "Obviously."   
  
Stephen gave him a kind smile. "Actually, the good luck spell was for you. I did the ritual this morning before I went to the library." He fished a small ball from his pocket and placed it in front of Wong. It was made of wax. "Here, I'm repaying you for your kindness. Hold that with you and it should bring you some good luck for about a week, if I did it right."   
  
"Um-" Wong was just about to say how little he wanted to be involved in Stephen's hobby, but the worried smile on his face shut him up. "Thank... you."   
  
He placed it in his back pocket. He'll probably forget it later anyway.   
  
"Tell me if it works, please. If it does, that means I can start doing more advanced stuff.”

Wong gave him an incredulous look. “And if it doesn’t?”

The nervous laugh that escaped Stephen’s lips made Wong want to throw the wax ball in the trash. “Well, if you start stepping on dog shit constantly and losing your wallet, you can blame me.”

All the librarian can think of is how much his grandmother would have hated this man. He keeps the wax ball in his pocket for now, willing to take the risk.

The rest of the lunch was spent in silence. Well, form Wong’s end. He didn’t mind listening to Stephen’s chatter, from his complaints about his cleaning job to explaining how he managed to actually think about nothing for a few minutes after meditating for hours. Wong wasn’t sure if he could trust that last part, seeing as the man seems to have a dozen thoughts buzzing in his mind at once, but he nodded and smiled. Stephen was clearly proud of himself, boasting even.

He was sure that boasting wasn’t the point of clearing the mind and spirit, but he refrained from commenting.

Stephen left before him. Something about having to begin a spell before sundown that will help him to in his studies. Wong wasn’t sure but he said his goodbyes with a less awkward handshake, leaving him alone in Starbucks with a cup of cold, bad tea.

He didn’t have a long shift for the day and decided that he would surprise Imei with a nice homemade meal, since they had been eating out in the past week. Once he arrived at his apartment, he noticed that his shoe smelled like dog shit.

Wong’s immediate thoughts went towards the wax ball in his pocket. Looked like Stephen had failed with his “good luck charm” after all.

Yet when he took off his shoe to in order to look at what he stepped in, the feces had somehow caught on to a fifty dollar bill.

A laugh escaped his lips. Magic and luck seemed to have a price, then.

After cleaning the bill and his hands thoroughly, at least five times before he even _thought_ about handling food, his eyes kept darting to his phone as he chopped vegetables.

If Stephen wasn’t ready to tell him about his past, perhaps the internet could provide some answers.

Wong reached for his phone. His hand stopped midway, wondering if it was all right to google someone he met only recently. No, it wasn’t -- This silly obsession with the man had to end. He was an acquaintance, nothing more. He was sure Stephen would tell him in his own time.

It took him five minutes to put his knife down and walk to his sofa, phone on hand already googling the words ‘ _stephen neurosurgery new york city’._ It did not take him long to find what he was looking for.

“Doctor Stephen Strange,” He muttered to himself, the name was as ironic as it got. Fuck, the man has his own wikipedia page. Published medical journals. CNN interviews. Finger hovering over the link for a moment, he tapped on the most recent video, dating back a year and a half. For no reason that he phantom, Wong’s heart sped up at the sight of the other man.

The video showed Stephen being interviewed by a CNN reporter about his recent findings in the field. He was clean-shaven, dressed up in expensive looking clothing, happily talking on and on about a procedure he developed that Wong didn’t understand. Neither did the interviewer, he could tell -- Stephen had not bothered dumbing down his medical vernacular for the news. He was calm and charming, happily boasting away about his _incredible progress_ and his _wonderful_ career.

Most of all, he seemed like a complete entitled prick. Just like so many rich white men who roam the streets of New York City. Wong’s thoughts trail off to their meeting at Starbucks earlier, vaguely wondering if there are still remnants of Stephen’s past self in his personality. There has to be, not even magic can change greed.

He went back and saw other links. _Doctor injured in terrible car accident. Police find Doctor after hours of searching. Horrifying car accident may have been linked to texting and driving._ Wong scrolled past each one, he wasn’t interested in the gory details of his friends rise and fall.

His thumb pressed _images_ instead. There are a couple of scattered professional looking pictures, probably from some high end event or charity gala. Some from local news interviews, others from what seemed to be like Stephen’s instagram account. It takes a herculean effort not to look through those too.

Even with the beard and the scruffy clothes, Stephen is quite handsome. But after staring at a picture where he’s looking straight at the camera, clean shaven with a slight smirk in his face, Wong can only gulp in response, looking to the door in case Imei came in. Like a teenager scared that he’ll get caught watching porn. His eyes darted back to the screen.

Wong thumbed the sleep button. The picture abruptly disappeared and all he saw was his own reflection. He set the phone to the side, shut his eyes and thumped his fist against his brow.  


~*~  


Stephen no longer came to the library on a daily basis, and only came in about twice a week to talk to Wong. Consult him or a book for a moment before running off to do whatever soft of magick was keeping him busy. The librarian no longer found the man’s hobbies strange and even found himself reading a few blog posts or guides on varied spells Stephen mentioned. He doubted he would ever take up the hobby himself, but his skepticism turned into distant acceptance.

Winter was drawing close. Usually, Wong would be preoccupied with finding holiday gifts for his co-workers and wondering whether or not Imei and him could afford a trip to China that year, but his thoughts only focused on the fact that Winter was an especially dangerous time for those who didn’t have a home. Rest assured, Stephen was quick to dispel any worries.

“I’ll be fine. I have a place to stay now, did I tell you about it?” Stephen asked while drinking his bad corporate coffee.

Wong took a sip of his the terrible corporate tea that he was slowly acclimating to, unfortunately. “No, you never tell me anything.”

The magician didn’t seem to be insulted in the slightest. His hands were now busy with shuffling tarot cards, a habit he’d picked up recently, and smiled. “I found a place in the Village to squat in with a friend. This huge abandoned house. I’m surprised that more people don’t stay in the place too but it _does_ have rumours of being haunted. And demonic.”

“Did you have anything to do with those rumours?”

Stephen winked at him. Wong’s eyes darted to his tea. “You mentioned you were staying with a friend?”

“She comes and goes, actually. Well, she’s not actually _there_.” The man tried to explain. “She appears in her astral form sometimes and teaches me things. I think she sees potential in me.”

“Is she a... powerful witch?” Wong tried his hardest not to look at him as if he was delusional.

“The _strongest_ of all. The stuff she knows cannot be found in the books here, or in any book that isn’t at the very least a thousand years old. Give me some time and I’ll be far past silly spells and charms.”

Wong still had the wax ball, now in his wallet. It had helped him find two more twenty dollar bills under his shoe, without the help of feces, and had avoided getting him picked for extra shifts for the entire week. Imei got a raise in her holiday bonus for her loyalty to the company. He’d already thanked Stephen for it before, but he would do it again if he could.

“What do you plan to do once you become more um-powerful?”

“I’ll use it for good. Maybe I can find a way to heal my hands and use magic and science to heal others. Think of the recognition, the change it could bring if we found a way to tap into the mystic arts and study it closely. It would change everything, Wong.”  


The librarian did not seem impressed. “I see.”

A card landed on the table. The Magician, upright. The card of ego, miracles and opportunities. Of the pursuit of goals and power. Stephen stared at it and placed it back on the deck. “Oh, today is going to be a good day.” He muttered happily.

In one fluid motion, Stephen spread the deck across the table between them and gestured at them. “Would you like to pick one?”

Wong couldn’t see why not. He tapped the first card that caught his eye, one to the left that was slightly hidden compared to the rest of the deck. Stephen slipped it out and turned it around.

“Ah --” Stephen hissed at the sight of the card. “The Hierophant.”

“It sounds good to me.”

Stephen tapped a finger to his beard . “It’s reversed. Short answer: it represents rebelliousness, immorality... Infidelity. Your subconscious may be bothering you.”

The man clearly noticed the look of worry that spread across Wong’s usually stoic face. He placed the card back in the deck with a short laugh. “Don’t worry too much, it wasn’t a proper spread anyway. Just make sure to keep your dick in your pants for the time being.”

He huffed out a laugh, his shoulders relaxed again. Wong was pretty sure he could do that.  


~*~

  


He had been gravely mistaken about his own self control.

The holidays meant that more people were desperately going from store to store to find last minute gifts, which meant Imei’s work was incredibly demanding at this time of year. The library, of course, didn’t have as much traffic as a regular bookstores save for a passing student looking for an old newspaper information and the like. Wong was left to tend to the apartment alone. He’d already swept the scattered leaves of the Bodhi tree, made sure the Buddha statue was clean, meditated, and cooked enough rice for the coming days.

Leaving him in the middle of his apartment with nothing to do. Wong didn’t enjoy feeling idle and useless, but he had already mopped and cleaned everything yesterday.

He resorted to the technological distraction in his pocket, staring at his _most visited_ pages with silent anger. The third one was a link to an image search for none other than Doctor Stephen Strange. (The rest were recipe websites and book review blogs, the only two other things the internet was good for.)

And there he was, staring back at him with the same light smirk and shaven face from his phone’s screen. He put his phone to sleep for a moment, cursing the photographer for taking such an attractive picture, and set it on his nightstand. If he had nothing to do for the rest of the evening, it wouldn’t hurt to take a nap.

He settled for a long sleeved shirt and sweatpants, methodically folding the previous clothes he was wearing and any clothes Imei had left around. He rested on his side on the bed, as always, and closed his eyes.

He gave up after twenty minutes.

Wong turned to face the other side, a light cold breeze entered from a slightly open window that he didn't bother closing. His phone buzzed loudly against the nightstand. Imei sent him a text reminding him that she has a doctor's appointment tomorrow. He answered a quick _okay_ and his thumb automatically presses the home button, then the _safari_ app, and he was back exactly where he started.

Perhaps it was the fact that his mind was both tired and drowsy, still feeling the effects  from his earlier meditation, but Wong did not notice the heat pooling at his navel. How his hand rested in front of his trousers and squeezed. The phone was placed back in the nightstand. With a soft sigh, his hand slipped underneath the final bit of fabric and stroked. Slowly. He wasn’t in any sort of rush.

He thought of Imei. Of her soft lips, the way her hair delicately fell to her shoulders. Of her inner thighs and her breasts. Her strong arms. Her deep voice. Of facial hair tickling against the back of his neck, hands covering his own to help him stroke him cock.

Wong opened his eyes and noticed in horror that he wasn’t thinking about Imei at all. It horrified him even more that he was fully hard now just at the thought of Stephen’s scarred shaky hands stroking him into completion.

A groan escaped through gritted teeth. No. No. He closed his eyes again, forcing himself to focus. Only Imei this time, and how she enjoyed riding him. How she would moan at the simplest touch, switching her pleas from english to chinese with ease.

The delicate moans in his head turned into a low, deep chuckle, asking him for more. Fantasy Stephen was on top of him, gasping with a slight smile on his face as he rocked back and forth on his lap. His shaking hands were reaching between them and taking both of their heated flesh in his palm, miniscule whimpers escaping his lips as he started to move.

Wong quickly tore his hand from his much too desperate cock and covered his face. Wong did not enjoy getting annoyed, he hated losing his temper, but at this state he could not control the frustrated groan that echoed throughout the room.

His hands reached down again on their own accord, both of them now, one gripped the sheet and the other back where it needed to be. His face turned to the side and buried in his pillow.

It had been weeks since he last did this, it was clear from the way his muscles were already tensing with every stroke and thought of Stephen. The man in his mind was smiling, possibly amused at him, encouraging him to continue like a devil in his shoulder.

It took a lot of effort to pry his hand away at the last second, resting it at his side in the mattress. Wong sat up to breathe, just like the exercises he’d learned as a young man in his wushu lessons. He chest feels like it's heaving, gasping for air, his body was clearly punishing him for not finishing.

No, he could never allow himself to do that.

Stephen’s words echoed in his mind again, but this time they were nowhere near as alluring as before.

_Immorality. Infidelity. Your subconscious may be bothering you._

He was ashamed.

 

~*~

 

Miles away, in a different part of New York City, Stephen Strange stared at his crystal ball contemplatively. It was the only way he _could_ stare, in this situation, doing anything other than staring would entirely rude.

Then again, he could always look away. Spy on someone else who wasn’t the poor librarian, who was having some sort of crisis because of him.

He moved his hand in the air and noticed the gold ring in the nightstand. Ah -- that made sense.

With another wave of his hand, the image disappeared. It seemed that Wong had gone to wash his hands anyway, nothing interesting. He didn’t only invade his friend’s privacy like this, he was far too busy looking into the lives of strangers in search for demons. But tonight had been... different. He was worried for Wong after he had chosen that specific card in the coffee shop.

Magic could only control so much, it could not alter the deepest desires of men.

  
He placed a fabric over the crystal ball and stood up. The witch had much to think about.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, sorry for the delay. i hope the length of this chapter makes up for the wait. i'm not sure when i might post the next one, i have a bunch of ideas for other one shots that i really want to work on and a lot of ideas for this fic that i need to sort out and organize.
> 
> i'm sorry in advance. as always, comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
>  **(SPOILER)** TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER: terminal cancer and suicide

177 A Bleecker Street was indeed an old, strange looking building. Wong was thankful he didn’t come at night, when the place probably looked even more haunted, if that was even possible. The house was huge, decorated with scattered antique furniture that looked new. He had no idea how the building hasn’t been raided and stolen by now. Wong expected it to look more abandoned.

“Could you had me that bit of lavender?” His friend asked, deeply entranced in the stove in front of him. Wong still didn’t understand the concoction they were supposed to be making.

“I expected you to have a cauldron, like the witches in the movies.” He handed him the flowers and watched as they sank under the opaque liquid. Whatever it was, it smelled great.

Stephen scoffed, “Cauldrons are surprisingly expensive. All modern witches use stoves and microwaves. There’s nothing wrong with taking advantage of the technology at your disposal.”

He waved his hand in the air before walking away. The spoon continued to stir the pot by itself. Wong was still getting used to the whole telekinesis thing.

“What exactly are we making?”

“It’s for protection,” He mumbled. “I claimed this house now, it protects me and I shall protect it. I don’t want any policemen or strangers disturbing me.”

Stephen had mentioned before his experience with the NYPD, back when he had nowhere to stay. His first few weeks while homeless were tough, not only did his pride made him refuse to go to any sort of shelter or soup kitchen, but the less patient sort of police would take away his blanket, or kick him out of any corner or alley he had fallen asleep in. The first time Wong visited the house, Stephen had hidden scorch marks all over the walls, creating the illusion that the building was still abandoned to anyone who wasn’t explicitly allowed to enter by the witch himself.

The timer dinged. Stephen poured the lavender-infused water to a bowl and dropped a crystal inside it that had been buried in sea salt. Wong sipped his tea as he watched the man make sure the vapor reached all the edges of the house, muttering under his breath as he did so.

Once he finished, he handed Wong a bottle that was full of dirt and what looked like regular, rounded stones. Stephen poured three drops of whiskey on top of it, took a quick sip of his own, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Stephen started at the glass bottle with immense concentration, placing his hands in front of him, palm facing the object, as if he was trying to move it with his mind. Which he could, Wong has seen it, but it didn’t seem like what he intended to do at the moment.

 _“Spirits of the Earth,_   
_Protect thou my home_   
_Prevent evil from entering_   
_Reverse its flow_   
_Keep me safe_   
So mote it be!” 

His voice echoed through the entire building. Wong expected lightning to shoot from the sky for the dramatic effect.

“That should do it.” Stephen smiled and walked to the front door, placing the bottle beside it. There was a lighted intense burning away on the other side of the opening. It felt peaceful, reminded him of his old childhood home.

Somehow it felt more peaceful than his own apartment.

“There, the sanctum is protected.” Stephen slumps on the nearest chair, looking exhausted. He’d mentioned before that any spell required great concentration, and he had been working on numerous ones all morning. Wong poured him a cup of tea from the kitchen and gave it to his friend. Whenever Imei seemed stressed or tired, he would do the same.

“Sanctum?”

Stephen smiled as he sipped on his tea, “The Sanctum Sanctorum, to be exact.”

“Is this place supposed to be holy?”

The man hummed in thought, “In a sense. I want it to be more... spiritual. Somewhere I can practice my magic in peace.”

There’s a pause before Wong continued. “Are you religious? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I used to be an atheist, now I believe in so many gods I’ve lost count. Most of them are long forgotten. Learning to appease them can be tough, even with google's help.” His

Wong was a Buddhist, he didn’t know exactly what it felt like to worship a god, much less multiple ones. He felt silent, as per usual, eyeing the furniture around him.

“A fixing spell.” Stephen noticed him eyeing the lovely mahogany wardrobe. “You shouldn’t open that one. Has a cursed shoe in it I had to dispel from a kid who bought them in a Goodwill.”

“You’re helping people?”

A short chuckle escaped the man, “that’s why I got the landline working.” He points at the antique phone on the wall. The sort you would expect the Munsters to have in their home. “I’ve only done it a few times. I go to where I sense a disturbance, usually in the demonic sense, and get rid of it. I always give them my number afterwards in case it happens again, it’s the only advertisement I have so far... I should start charging but --”

Wong turned to him. Stephen waved his hand and his tea became a glass of whiskey. “Most of the time they aren’t rich families. They pay back in good food instead. I have _arroz con gandules_ from my last venture.”

A sort of warm pride sat in Wong’s chest. Stephen may try to hide it, but he was a kind man, clearly different from the one who enjoyed the constant glory and fame. A soft smile formed in his lips, before hiding it behind his teacup.

“Well, I think that is honorable. I’ll be sure to contact you if I ever run into trouble with some demons.”

His friend eyes a table covered by cloth for a moment before answering. “I doubt that. Your home is safe, trust me.”

Wong didn’t bother asking how Stephen knew his address. If he managed to google and pry around Stephen's past life, he supposed it was only fair the other man would know things about him as well. Eye for an eye, then. As long as he doesn't manage to scare Imei with his antics and his rituals.

He should probably let his wife know that his friend turned out to be an actual witch who can do magic. He was pretty sure Imei believed his only close friend was a troubled homeless man. Well, not that Stephen wasn't troubled, but he was no longer homeless.

"I should go." He began, catching himself staring at the other man for a bit too long. "Imei -- She's... Probably already home."

As Stephen spoke, his eyes glowed with faint, yellow light. Wong wasn't sure if it was a side-effect of the clairvoyance or if he just did it to freak him out. "No, she's not home yet. But you should hurry or else you'll miss your train. Send her my regards, watch over her."

Wong left with an unspoken goodbye and one last glance at his friend, wondering what he meant by those last three words.

  


~*~

 

“You’ve been quiet today,” Wong noted in his native tongue. It wasn’t usual for Imei to look so distant and reserved. It felt like she was acting like a regular housewife, she was free that day and had spent the entire day cooking. Wong never intended Imei to be the sort of wife that so many in his family wanted her to be.

Their union had been old fashioned enough, arranged to be together since they were children. It’s the very reason they moved to New York, to be able to spend their lives together the way they wanted to. It wasn’t perfect, but at the very least their marriage felt almost akin to perfection.

Imei stopped stirring the pot and smiled back at him, an innocent look on her face as if she hadn’t noticed her silence until now.

“I just have a lot of things in my mind.” The soup boiled away as she spoke, and all Wong could think about was how Stephen would do the same with his potions, and sometimes got mixed up with which pot was an exorcism brew and which one was his instant noodles.

Wong stilled. “You can always talk to me, Imei. I’m here for you.”

Her smile didn’t falter, but she didn’t look away from the bubbling soup. It smelled strongly like rosemary, straight from Stephen Strange’s herb garden. “I know. You always have.”

She gave him a kiss, short and sweet just like her. Imei switched to English when she continued. “It’s just personal stuff I have to figure out. You’ll find out soon enough.”

Wong nodded and let the subject wither away, staring at the scorch marks by the window that Stephen had left to keep them safe.

  


~*~

 

Wong ran down the street, apologizing to anyone he accidentally bumped into, though he doubted anyone in New York would be surprised by a man in a hurry.

He stopped at the corner of the street and waited for a car to pass. Wong took out his phone, staring at the text that had him out of breath in the first place.

**_Need help. Come to the Sanctum ASAP._ **

Of course, Wong expected the worst. Only a block away from Bleecker Street, Wong made a spring for it, arriving at the front door of the Sanctum Santorum, hunched over to catch his breath. The door opened before he even knocked and Wong was grabbed by his arm, the door was shut as fast as it was opened.

Stephen was resting against the door, covering it with his arms to keep the city out. Or rather, keep something _in._ The witch appeared shaken, eyes darting all around the room, the visibly breathed out and calmed down.

“Stephen, are you alright?” Wong asked, resting his hands on his friend’s shoulders and looking for any signs of injury or blood.

The witch laughed, “Yeah, I’m perfectly fine. The Sanctum, however, isn’t.”

Wong looked around him, “What’s wrong?!”

Stephen grew closer, he had a smile on his face that didn’t calm down the librarian at all. “ _Demons_ , Wong. Otherworldly spirits are trying to mess with my magic.”

The sigh Wong let out was not loud or long enough to express the sort of frustration he felt at that moment.

“Stephen, I can’t help you with that. I don’t know any magic. What if one of them possess me?” He tried to explain, exasperated. “I have a shift in an hour.”

His friend gave him a knowing smirk, “Then why did you come all the way here, then?”

Wong crossed his arms, wondering where the hell this was going.

Without warning, Stephen’s eyes started to glow. He muttered a spell under his breath and tapped Wong’s forehead. “There, now Zelma has your shift.”

The librarian became even more frustrated. “Zelma has classes right now! She’s not with us every day.”

Stephen’s head slumped before he repeated the entire spell once more, glowing eyes and all. Wong tapped his foot impatiently, wondering how the man was going to fuck this up this time.

“Fine, I gave it to Susan now. Happy?”

Wong hummed in response and uncrossed his arms. Good, he hated Susan. He rested his hands on his face, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he spoke. “Okay, what do you need me to do?”

The smile in the witch’s face grew as he spoke. Wong doesn't think he has ever seen anyone so excited about demons before. Then again, it was his first time being haunted.

“I manage to keep them contained in this pentagram.” He gestured to the large circle drawn crudely in the middle of the room. “As you can see I had some... difficulty drawing them. My hands --” Stephen clears his throat. “Anyway, the pentagram isn’t very powerful, and will run out of its energy soon. It's only containing them,  but it’s not depleting them of their power. They’ll be back at full force once the pentagram is out.”

There was one clear problem to this whole scenario: Wong couldn’t actually _see_ the demons, or any sort of creature that Stephen said he saw. Stephen seemed well aware of this, since he had placed a pair of glasses over his eyes before he could ask a question.

“This should let you look into the other side. Open your eye, Wong. Blessed be.” Stephen whispered into his ear as he spoke, Wong managed to keep his breathing collected, despite his fast beating heart.

Sure enough, there were four medium sized demons hovering in the air above the pentagram, glaring at him with a fierce expression that gave Wong goosebumps.

The witch pressed something against his chest for him to grab. It was a pair of four-finger punching rings.

“I need you to help me beat them up.”

Wong stared at the rings, then back at Stephen, back at the rings, and slipped them on without another word. The librarian moved to a calculated stance, the result of years of martial arts lessons in his youth as his parent’s wishes.

He hoped his black belt still paid off.

Stephen hummed in appreciation and, without wasting another moment, brushed off a part of the pentagram with his shoe.

The following events happened in a blur, far too quick for Wong to properly register what he was doing beyond muscle memory and instinct. Everytime demon came close to him, he would punch it until it was weak, while Stephen let out a litany of spells faster than he could catch his breath.

It’s been so long since he felt this alive. The librarian felt a creature kick his chest, throwing him to the ground. Stephen took the demon by surprise and stabbed it with a kitchen knife. It did not die or perish away, but it certainly wasn’t able to defend itself when Wong returned the pain.

Wong was practically surrounding Stephen, since the creature were all targeting him. Stephen was sitting on the ground now, legs crossed and hands tracing patterns to the floorboard that seemed to weaken the demons every time they met Wong’s fist.

With a final kick, the last of the demons disappeared as Stephen uttered a final word, extending his arms to the roof of the house. They were whisked away without a trace, yelling the word _Strange_ that then became a distant, dissonant sound, until the Sanctum was quiet once more.

Wong panted and slumped on the floor next to where Stephen was sitting. The man looked irritatingly pristine, his beard seemed more well kept than the last time he saw him. Wong sat up and handed the rings and glasses back to Stephen.

“Keep the glasses, it never hurts to look at the world differently.” He said, cleaning off the demon blood from the rings and saving it on a handkerchief for later use.

Wong chuckled and sat up, “I already see the world differently without the glasses, thanks to you.”

A tinge of pink crept on Stephen’s cheeks. With a swipe of his hands, the scorch marks on the floor burned away. The witch closed his eyes and smiled once Wong noticed that he held his gaze on his friend for longer than was necessary. “Magic does change perspectives. It can give us... emotions and experiences we never knew were possible.”

“Yeah, I never expected that I would be punching demons in my thirties when I moved to New York.”

Stephen giggled, his eyes were closed and his face showed nothing but joy. Wong didn’t think he’d ever seen him laugh this way before. Wong hid his face and looked away, even if he was smiling along. “Well, it seems that the universe has special paths that we were never expecting.”

Wong couldn’t imagine himself as anything other than a librarian, he’s been working as one for more than a decade.

He wondered if Stephen knew something about this so called _path._ Wong’s life wasn’t riddled with destiny, that seemed like something more for fit for his magical friend.

Stephen spoke up again, this time his voice was quieter. “How’s Imei?”

“She’s great, as always.” Wong assured him, thought there was a look in the other man’s eyes that knew he was not saying everything. “Well, she has been a bit quiet lately but... It’ll be fine.”

Stephen reached for his pocket and fished out his deck of tarot cards, shuffling them idly. “I could try and read what’s wrong, if you like.”

Wong shook his head the instant he saw the deck. “No. She’ll tell me herself, in time.”

His friend gives him a calculated stare and nods. The subject is dropped as if it never existed. “By the way, did you happen to bring a spare change of clothes?”

Wong didn’t even have somewhere he could carry clothes with him at the moment. He supposed Stephen had forgotten that backpacks were a thing when he could simply conjure so many objects when he needed them. “No, why?”

“Your shirt is covered in demon blood. You can take a shower here if you like.”

He looked down and, sure enough, there was a black, viscous liquid drying on the fabric of his clothes. Wong grimaced.

“Shit.”

  


~*~

  


Imei Wong was not a particularly superstitious woman.

Her family back home was quite superstitious, even going as far as calling neighbors who were part of scandalous gossip cursed or even dealing with witchcraft. Her husband had never believed in those sort of things, he was taught that the individual was responsible for their consequences, not luck or fate. But he changed, especially after he met his new friend. For better or for worse, she still did not know. All Imei was sure of was that she had to find out more about this man by herself. Who was, apparently, a witch.

If her parents found out what she was up to now, they would be begging her to back back home. Not like that don’t already do that.

Jason would only ever tell her the bare minimum about his friend. All she knew was that he had magical talents and that it brought a smile to her husband’s face whenever he mentioned him. It wasn’t until her coworker mentioned that she finally managed to cure her son’s recurring nightmares with the help of a sorcerer that she decided to dig deeper. Her coworker gave her his card, babbling on excitedly about how handsome he was.

Imei liked to believe in coincidences. New York City was filled to the brim with people, but it was still so small.

She left work early that day. Imei felt slightly guilty, she had already missed work from an earlier doctor’s appointment, which she had also not mentioned to her husband, but she needed to sort things out before she mentioned anything. Therapists were expensive, a sorcerer seemed like a proper alternative. They were a sort of therapist, were they not? A healer of the mind and spirit, or so she read.

Turns out she hadn’t been the only one to go to the witch of Bleecker Street to solve difficult problems. His reviews on google maps were outstanding.

Imei knocked on the door and waited, adjusting her skirt to look presentable. It seemed that the cozy looking witch had not bothered doing the same for his customers.

He was dressed in a large red shawl and a blue maxi skirt, with old looking boots to match. Living in New York, she had become unphased by the outfits people tend to wear. She gave him a small smile, “Are you... Doctor Strange?”

“Yes. Finally, someone remembers I have a PhD.” He chuckled and gestured at her to come it. “Nice to finally meet you, Imei. Wong has told me nothing but nice things about you.”

Of course he knew who she was, he probably saw her coming from his crystal ball or something of the sort. Imei stared at the humongous, open house around out, looking just like an antique shop. Or a museum. She loved it so far. “I’m glad, he just like that about you. I think he has a little man-crush, but don’t tell him I told you.”

Strange faltered for a moment then laughed, it seemed nervous. He probably already knew why she was here as well.

“Um, come with me. We can sit somewhere more comfortable. Would you like some tea?”

“Ooh, yes please.” She followed him to a dining room table, complete with a old and slightly broken candle chandelier. The room smelled like incense and vanilla, it incredibly calming. She sat and glanced at the kitchen. Strange was twirling his hands around the room, she could see a teapot floating on its own, pouring its contents into two separate cups. It levitated from across the room to the table, setting itself right in front of her and followed by two packs of brown sugar. Both were different brands, she wondered if he stole them.

“Thank you, Doctor.” She took a sip, it tasted minty.

“Please, call me Stephen. I don’t tell that to just anyone, you know.” He drank his own cup, it was still levitating in front of his lips while his own trembling, scarred hands were threaded together on the table.

After a short bout of silence, Imei sighed and placed her cup to the side. “Do you know why I’m here?”

A pregnant pause, Stephen rearranged a deck of cards before he spoke. His hands seemed steady at that moment until they shook again when he ordered them in front of him with a wave of his hand. His face changes from kind to unreadable.“Yes, but you may tell me if you wish. It never hurts to let things out on your own.”

The room only held the sound of a grandfather clock ticking. Imei could only think about how every second came closer to her death. It wasn’t a terrible feeling, knowing that her life had an end date sooner than she expected. It was more unusual and unnerving than terrible.

Imei let out a smile, even if it felt hollow. “I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. I thought it was just a late period or... early menopause.” It’s the first time she says it out loud, a weight lifted from her shoulders. Not all of it, thought, she doubted that weight will ever leave her. “It’s already a cancer, not a tumor. I would have gone earlier but... I couldn’t afford it.”

A flash of guilt appeared on Stephen’s face and left as quickly as she saw it. “You’re very young.”

Imei huffs, “Yeah, don’t remind me.”

Stephen stayed silent, she continued. “I don’t think I’ll survive.”

“What makes you think that? From what I know, I believe it can be cured.”

“I... can feel it. I know it sounds silly, the future is uncertain and all but -- I just think I know.”

Stephen shook his head. “That’s not silly at all. It’s not unheard of for people to sense future moments in your life. Many people know when they are going to die, especially if the date draws close.”

He didn’t try sugarcoating the situation, nor did he stop her from saying such terrible things. Wong would, she knew it. He was different with her, more optimistic and patient. Imei slumped her head to her hands. “Do you know when that date is?”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

Imei didn’t look up at him.

Stephen tapped at the hardwood of the table in thought. “How about you tell me what exactly you want to know first?”

“I need a straight answer, Stephen. Just tell me... tell me whether or not I’ll die from this. Please.”

It was a process. The witch took a few minutes to look through his cards, setting them on the table on a specific pattern to read each one carefully. He closed his eyes, muttering something under his breath then opened them again. Imei waited for what seemed like an eternity, quietly picking at her nails and prepared for any answer she received.

“You won’t be able to make it.” His voice was quiet yet his words felt so loud. “I’m sorry.” He added quickly. Imei wondered if Stephen was used to saying these sort of things. Wong mentioned he used to be a really good Doctor, she definitely isn’t the first person he’s told this sort of news to.

She composed herself with a calculated deep breath. “Thanks for telling me.” Her throat hurt despite the fact that she refused to cry. “Can you tell me how you know it or is that a magician’s secret?”

It eased the tension, Stephen smiled softly. “I have been monitoring Wong, making sure he’s healthy and safe. I’ve been doing the same with your health as well. I... care for him, he cares you you -- it’s the least I could do.”

“I saw that you had complications. At first I scattered protective spells across your apartment in the case that a spirit I angered was taking it out on the people I cared about. Turns out it was much more simpler than that... Nature took its course, no magic on earth can prevent a terminal illness. May I ask you a question?”

Imei wouldn’t exactly call her situation simple, but in the end it truly was. She was going to die, that was it. She was going to die -- she had an infinite amount of possibilities to choose from but this man had finally narrowed it down to one. It was her choice whether or not to follow through with it.

“Why do you trust me? We only just met.” He asked.

“Because Wong trusts you. And it’s clear that we both... care for him.” She reached from across the table to hold his trembling hand.

“That’s a lot of trust to put in a person, Imei.”

“Are you certain of what’s going to happen to me? Have you examined it from every angle, in every way possible?”

Stephen’s hand curled around her own. His eyes looked guilty, as if it was his fault. As if it hurt him to tell her this. She wondered if it hurt him to do this back when he was a doctor. “...Yes, I’m certain.”

“Then I trust you.” It was a matter a fact, no questions asked. The final push she needed before making her decision. “How do you think Wong will take this?”

The witch sighed, “I haven’t looked at those possibilities. It’s more difficult than it seems. It’s easy to see small ones, like if the train will be late or whether or not it will rain, people’s emotions and ends have more variables, more... of an intensity to them. But I can safely say that he will be devastated.”

Imei shook her head, “I don’t want him to suffer through seeing me that way.”

She didn’t quite understand the expression on his face, it was calm with an underlying tone of desperation. Both of Stephen’s hands and holding her own now. “Imei, I can’t tell you what to do. My job is only to let you know of your choices, your fate and fortune. But I am saying this as a friend... whatever you choose to do, please make sure you talk to Wong before. He loves you, dearly, and wouldn’t cope without being able to know that you knew this before you decide anything.”

The grandfather clock continued to tick in the background, filling out the silence between them. She can’t speak, even if she was completely sure of what she must do next. Since she could not stammer, her hands shook.

Imei nodded and stood up to hug him. “Thank you.” He didn’t hug her back but didn't lean away either. Maybe he wasn’t used to hugs.

She left without another word, at least not before placing a bag of food she had prepared the night before specifically for this occasion. For old times sake. Imei didn’t look back, she didn’t want to.

As she left The Sanctum Santorum (a proper name for such a calming a spiritual place), New York was still sunny and warm. It was completely indifferent to the fact that she has cancer, as were its countless citizens and tourists. Imei walked towards her subway stop, dozens of thoughts and doubts pooling over her head.

Ironically enough, the train was running late.

She texted Wong before it arrived.

**hi, are u making dinner?**

**It’s already done. I’m waiting for you to get home to dig in.**

That managed to stifle out a sigh from her. She head a distant, dissonant noise and typed faster.

**pls dont wait for me to get home to eat. go ahead and start without me.**

**Alright. See you soon.**

The train grew closer. Imei scrambled to finish her message before it arrived.

**thank you for everything. give my thanks to stephen, he’s a sweetheart. i see why you like him so much.**

**What are you talking about?**

She could see the headlights out of the corner of her eye.

 **i love you.**

At that moment, her head was calm. Like a steady pond. It was nice, she wished it could have lasted longer.

Imei threw the phone at the ground and jumped in front of the moving train.

  


_~*~_

 

Wong stared at his phone with a mix of anger and dread.

The worst part of all is that his gut reaction isn’t to call his own wife for answers, but to call Stephen. His grip on the device tightened right before he feels it vibrate in his hand. It’s Imei.

A surge of relief spread across his face.

“What was that about?”

The voice across the line is gravely, masculine, rough. Heavily american. Not Imei. The opposite of Imei.

“ _Hello, are you Imei Wong’s husband? This is the NYPD.”_

Wong closed his eyes. “Yes?”

The voice over the line told him. His face drained of any color. Within moments, he sank into his chair, a hand over his mouth. Eyes wide shock in horror and realization.

  
Repeating softly, over and over: oh no, no. _please, no --_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was hard to write, certainly the first time i ever delve into this topic. if you have any problem about anything i wrote or notice any inaccuracies, don't hesitate to tell me in the comments.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> agh, sorry for the wait for this chapter, but i made up for it by writing up a pretty long one for you guys! i think this fic is almost done, one more chapter and perhaps an epilogue could do. 
> 
> lots of things happen in this one, so buckle up. i hope ya'll enjoy it!
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated :^)

 

After completing his appointments and tasks for the day, The Witch of Bleecker street sat in front of his crystal ball and looked over his dear friend, hoping that he does not follow is his former wife’s footsteps.

It was becoming a nightly routine now.

_ Wong is hiding his symptoms of grief very well _ , Stephen thinks. The man seems like a robot now, turned on auto-pilot, completely devoid of his warmth and kindness and only speaking when absolutely necessary. He worked, cooked, ate then slept as if that was all he was allowed to do. Stephen didn’t have a psychology degree, but it didn’t take an expert to know that Wong was acting as if nothing had ever happened. As if Imei had never existed.

His aura looked dull, barely even there. Yet any remnants of it was dark red -- the anger pooling inside of the poor librarian was going to eat him alive if Stephen didn’t do anything.

He waved a hand and saw that Wong was methodically changing into his night wear and folding his clothes. It didn’t seem like he was going to shower today either, then.

Stephen closed his eyes and rested his head on the table. As if he wasn’t feeling guilty enough, now he felt like a stalker. This had passed the point of being worried for a friend. He cared for Wong, deeply. Stephen was well aware that the sentiment was mutual... or so it was before  _ it  _ happened. 

He looked over his shoulder at his slumped, sleeping corporeal body on the floor. It should had at least some form of sleep, even if his mind and astral form was still awake. He’d already spent so many hours fasting and meditating to perfect this technique, he wanted to use it as much as possible, even if it meant sacrificing rest from time to time. 

The crystal ball showed that Wong was still awake, staring up at the ceiling and reaching for his phone to check the time. It was two in the morning. He looked exhausted, but not enough to get him to sleep.

Perhaps it was time for the two of them to finally have a much needed chat about what happened.

The witch looked at his corporeal body one last time, wishing he hadn’t left it in such an uncomfortable position that will certainly give him a back ache once he returns to the physical plane. He sauntered out the building with ease, enjoying the fact that he could hover above New York City at night without having to worry about traffic or getting mugged, and made his way towards his friends apartment. 

Even at this hour, the city still felt loud and bright and exhilarating. It was completely oblivious to his friend’s grief and to his own conflicted emotions. A year ago, this would have had frustrated him, but after learning how infinitesimal he was to the grand scheme of the cosmos, it felt oddly relaxing. 

He doubted Wong would feel the same.

Stephen crossed wall after wall, hovering above a few parties, sleeping families and  _ personal moments _ until he found Wong’s apartment. Just as he thought, the man was still awake, idly staring at his phone. With a short spell he muttered under his breath, he crossed into the physical plane whilst still in his astral form, allowing Wong to see him hover above his bed.

The man dropped his phone to the floor and hit his head against the wall behind him in shock. This was not off to a great start.

Wong stroked the back of his head and frowned, “Great. Are you dead now too? Did one of your scorch marks allow me to see ghosts?”

Stephen crossed his legs and sat in midair, a few inches above Wong’s mattress. “No, I’m in the astral plane right now. I’m allowing you to see me.”

“ _ Allowing _ me? Is that why you haven’t talked to me in over a month? Because I wasn’t  _ allowed _ to?” 

Wong’s words are sharp with justified anger. The witch flinched, then sighed. “I wasn’t sure whether or not you wanted to see me. I waited for you to come to the sanctum. You didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Earlier today, Wong’s aura was dull and grey. Stephen could barely see it. Now it burns a dark red, like flames ready to ignite the whole building down with Stephen in it.

He crossed his arms. It took him a while to reply, as if the words refused to leave his throat. “Imei mentioned you before she passed away.”

Stephen gulped, “Did she call you?”

Wong looked like he wished that were true. “No, she  _ texted _ me. She told me to give you my thanks.”

The witch had not come prepared for this. He stared down at trembling hands. Wong continued, “Why would she thank a man she never even met in her final words, Strange? What did you do?”

There was no point in hiding it anymore, Stephen doesn’t know why he didn’t tell Wong before. Perhaps he was scared of the inevitable blame he would receive from the poor man, it didn’t take a tarot card to read that, but it was better to be partially blamed for her death than to have Wong believe that he had done something wrong. That he somehow treated his wife so badly that it lead her to killing herself. No, Stephen had to take responsibility.  

He explained everything, from the meeting to her almost exact words. Stephen told Wong that Imei loved him to her last breath, that she did it in his best interests, as well as to impede her own suffering. His friend stared at the mattress in silence as he took in all in.

“She spat on death and fate’s face, her final act of freedom and love for you.” The witch said, his astral body sitting on the air in front of Wong. “I didn't talk her into anything, I gave her complete freedom to do what she thought was best. It isn’t... It wasn’t my place to tell her what to do. I regret that it lead to this, I really do, but it seemed that even if I tried to tell her otherwise, she would have walked into that train either way.”

Wong responded by closing his eyes and pressing his palms to his face. As Stephen reached out to lay a astral hand to his shoulder, the man swung a fist to his face without warning. It passed through him, like punching the air, and Wong’s hand ended up colliding with the wall in front of him. Stephen didn’t flinch, and used the minimal magic that he had in this form in order to move a box of tissues on Wong’s bedside table to his lap. His knuckles were bleeding, Wong let out a few profanities in his native tongue and turned his head to face him.

“You saw it coming, you knew she was going to die.” Wong spat out. His aura burned crimson. “You could have told me. I could have talked to her in person about this before she --” He can barely bring himself to say the words. “Why didn’t you  _ tell _ me?”

“Wong, it wasn’t my place to do so! Even sorcerers have a sort of patient-confidentiality. It was her decision, her path.” 

His friend looked wrecked, the exhaustion of so many weeks without talking about this finally reached him. “I didn’t ask you to do it as a sorcerer, I asked why didn’t you tell me as my friend...”

Stephen stammered, trying to find words that might somehow drown the tension, but faltered. Wong spoke up instead. “Are you sure there was no magic you could use to stop it?”

The witch sauntered around the room, trying to avoid Wong’s eyes. “There is, but that sort of magic is dangerous and dark, and would ultimately lead to the death of someone innocent, or an extremely difficult sacrifice. I don’t believe Imei would have wanted you to go through either.”

“I specialize in white magic, it’s supposed to be used for good or neutral decisions. There are rules for what I do, breaking them almost always leads to destruction.”

Wong eventually slumped on the bed and stared at the ceiling, still exhausted but his mind was too filled with the dawning realization of what happened to Imei. He doubted he’ll get a good night’s sleep in a long time. “There was nothing you could do to save her, then.” He said, more to himself than towards Stephen.

The witch’s voice fell to a whisper. “Wong, I know what it’s like to lose people you love -- to blame yourself.” He sat next to his friend on his mattress, placing an astral hand over Wong’s physical one. He knew Wong couldn’t feel it, he could probably only sense a sort of warm, heavy air around his skin, but Stephen used the minimal energy he had in this form to heal his knuckles. “My wife left me as well.”

Wong’s hand clenches into a fist, the calmness he felt for just a few seconds turned into blind anger again. “Why did she leave you?”

Stephen hadn’t expected that question. “I... Unlike you, I wasn’t a very good husband.”

“And is she still alive?”

Regretting his words, the witch croaks out a  _ yes.  _ Wong moves his hand away, the healing process only left halfway. “She still breathes, she still walks on this earth. She only left you because of your selfish bullshit. Do not try to make yourself into a victim.”

“Wong, I was only trying to --”

He turned to his side to face the wall. He wouldn’t allow Stephen to see him like this anymore. “Just go.” Wong spat out, as if all the progress Stephen thought he made that day was nothing. He was a fool to think that he could get the man out of mourning with just a few words. 

Light from the rising sun flooded the room, despite the blinds Wong had covered the windows with. Stephen took this as his queue to leave, and muttered a spell that delved him back completely into the astral plane, where Wong couldn’t sense him anymore. Before leaving the room, he left a final scorch mark next to Wong’s door, hiding it with a wave of his hand. The symbol was a calming spell, and hopefully it would let the man sleep without nightmares of his dead wife.

It was the least he could do.

  
  


~*~

  
  


After a month of ignoring the fact that he had been offered time off to mourn, Wong finally admitted that he needed some time to clear his head. Zelma had happily agreed to take few of his shifts, claiming that she could use the extra pay, but he knew she did it out of kindness. He still did not understand why the young woman had grown to like him so much -- thought she once claimed that it was because he was ‘chill as hell and minded his own business’, which is probably something she doesn’t get to see that often living in a dorm with other college students.

They also shared a mutual dislike for the other nosier, more annoying librarians. Talking to Zelma made him forget he was mourning, at least most of the time. She never asked about his personal life, she had no reason to start now. She only ever asked about what happened to Stephen, and how she still didn’t understand how a homeless man turned into a neighborhood witch in just a few months.

It was his last day working before he took his brief bereavement leave, and Zelma and him were having lunch together in a nearby vegan place. Her choice, of course. Wong didn’t complain, thankful that he was at least eating something healthy after succumbing to ordering take-out almost every day for the past month. 

“He’s on the news now, you know.” She mentioned, interrupting their comfortable silence. 

Wong knew exactly who she was referring to, but he feigned ignorance anyway. He could at least pretend that he wasn’t thinking about Stephen Strange all the time. “Who is?”

“Magic boy.” She reached into her pocket for her phone, typing away without allowing Wong to see. 

“He has a name, you know.” He reminded her.

“You don’t have twitter or anything, right?”

Wong scoffed. “I have a facebook account I never use.”

“Thought so,” Zelma smiled. “Stephen has been helping a lot of people lately. Exorcisms, ghost trouble, charms, stuff like that. He helped my cousin get rid of our grandmother’s old ouija board properly. So she wrote about it on the internet, along with everyone else who want to brag about how mystical and spiritual they are, and he gets a free promo. So now, Doctor Strange of Bleecker Street has become the top place for magic problems in New York.”

No matter what he does, Stephen manages to get attention and success. Zelma turned her phone to show him a picture from a twitter account called  _ @sanctumupdates  _ apparently run by Stephen himself. The picture shows instructions for a do-it-yourself good luck charm for students and their upcoming finals. 

Zelma lent him the phone, chiding not to accidentally check her texts. Wong scrolled down to look at any tweets.

_ @sanctumupdates: Booked for private appointments for the next two weeks. Thank you. (I need to hire a secretary...) _

_ @sanctumupdates: I will not predict the Oscar winners. Not only have I not seen most of the movies, but I don’t want to ruin the surprise. (It’s La La Land) _

_ @sanctumupdates: To everyone asking what path you should take, here is my answer: Yes. _

_ @sanctumupdates: Angel by Anita Baker #Songoftheday _

_ @sanctumupdates: To anyone in NYC named Carrie, avoid shellfish today. And to any Jackson in Little Rock, AR: get a cat. _

After scrolling for a minute or two, Wong gave back the phone to his friend. She typed away again, obviously looking for something else. Wong was trying to think of a way to tell her that he didn’t actually  _ want  _ to know about what Stephen was up to, but Zelma handed him one of her headphone buds before he could say anything.

“He was interviewed by radiolab last week. Here, listen.” She gestured the earbud at his direction. He cleaned it on his shirt before placing it in his ear.

Wong couldn’t help but crack a small smile. “I didn’t think you were the kind to listen to podcasts.” 

Zelma muttered a quick  _ shut up  _ before pressing the play button.

  
  


~*~

[THEME PLAYS]

ROBERT: Did you believe in magic before working on this story?

JAD: I’ve seen some strange things in my life, but never like this. 

ROBERT: Nice word usage, if it was intentional.

JAD: It wasn’t, but you have to admit that the guy has the best name for any kind of magician ever. 

[WINDCHIMES START PLAYING. A MAN’S VOICE CHANTING WORDS IN LATIN ECHO OVER THEM.]

JAD: Do all spells have to be in latin?

STRANGE: No, that’s just a myth. I just did that for dramatic effect, I hate spell casting in latin.

[A SOUND OF A BOOK BEING CLOSED, A GUST OF WIND THAT FADES AWAY.]

ROBERT: This is Robert Krulwich 

JAD: And this is Jad Abumrad.

ROBERT: And you’re listening to Radiolab. The story came to us in a bit of a rush, I’m sure everyone, at least everyone who lives in New York City, knows who we’re going to discuss. There’s a new witch in town, and he isn’t like the kind you're thinking of.

[A VOICE CLIP FROM BEWITCHED PLAYS. ANOTHER SHORT VOICE CLIP FROM SABRINA, THE TEENAGE WITCH FOLLOWS, THEN ARE CUT OFF ONCE JAD SPEAKS.]

JAD: No, not the sort that flies in a broom or wears a big hat. The witch that everyone is talking about is a man called Doctor Stephen Strange, former neurosurgeon turned sorcerer.

[STEPS THAT ECHO AGAINST A WOODEN FLOOR SOUND IN THE BACKGROUND AS A MAN SPEAKS]

ROBERT: Why neuroscience?

STRANGE: [CLEARS HIS THROAT] It’s a private story. Long story short, personal loss, I wanted to help people at first, save those that are the hardest to save.

ROBERT: And you ended up being very successful at doing just that.

STRANGE: In a sense, yes. But there were more people I turned down that I could have saved than the ones who actually managed to become my patient.

ROBERT: Do you regret it? 

STRANGE: Becoming a Doctor? No, never.

ROBERT: I was referring to all the people you turned down.

STRANGE: [PAUSE] Yes, every day.

[THE BEGINNING OF A PINK FLOYD SONG BEGINS TO PLAY. IT’S CUT OFF ONCE ROBERT SPEAKS.]

ROBERT: You may have heard of the man before. Doctor Strange used to be one of the leading neurosurgeons in the New York Hospital. He was part of countess of difficult procedures, went around the world to give talks to Universities as well as to help victims of other countries with the most complicated problems.

JAD: You might have cached his CNN interview last year.

[A CLIP OF THE INTERVIEW PLAYS]

INTERVIEWER: So, Doctor Strange, how do you feel with your career at the moment?

STRANGE: I couldn’t be happier with where I am. It feels like I’m on top of the world, to be honest.

[THE CLIP STOPS]

ROBERT: And the higher you are, the harder you fall.

JAD: An accident changed the course of Strange’s life, and made him lose everything.

[CUT TO STRANGE SPEAKING]

STRANGE: I don’t think it was the accident that made me lose everything. It was my fault, all of it -- including the accident.

ROBERT: Could you go into more detail about it?

STRANGE: It’s been a long time since I actually told this to anyone. I was... texting and driving, on my way to a speaking engagement that I was often invited to, and crashed my car. It was indescribable, it fell off a cliff and almost tumbled onto the sea... My hands crashed against the glass and -- well... [PAUSE] I couldn’t perform surgery anymore.

ROBERT: And you never considered continuing work as a consultant?

STRANGE: I was accustomed to a certain lifestyle and luxury, and I was so blinded by my need to go back to that life that I didn’t consider any other option. I spent all my money on procedures that didn’t work, and sold everything I had to try to cure my hands, but to no avail.

ROBERT: Did no one help you during this?

STRANGE: My wife left my the year before, and I didn’t actually have friends just... people who worked for me or liked me for my money so no, I didn’t. 

ROBERT: And then you became homeless.

STRANGE: Yeah. [A NERVOUS CHUCKLE] The first few weeks were difficult. I feel like an asshole saying this but I didn’t want to accept the fact that I was broke, that I didn’t have money for food or anywhere the sleep. I didn’t accept help from anyone. Karma came to me like a slap in the face.

ROBERT: Why magic thought?

STRANGE: I... The sanctum you are in right now used to be abandoned, tons of people used it as a refuge or to sell drugs. I met a woman, she wasn't homeless but she was there either way, possibly healing someone. She told me that the only way I could heal was if I looked into the more mystical and magical side of things. I thought she was talking about my hands, I didn’t realize she was talking about healing... all of me.

[CUTS TO WIND CHIMES INSIDE THE SANCTUM GROWING LOUDER. STRANGE IS SPEAKING OVER THEM]

JAD: Like this?

STRANGE: You can only use three rosemary leaves, or else it won’t work. 

JAD: I forgot what we were making.

STRANGE: It’s a simple incense blend that’s supposed to help it rain.

JAD: I thought witches used huge cauldrons and not ovens.

STRANGE: [SOFT LAUGHER] You are not the first person to tell me that.

JAD: This seems pretty easy.

STRANGE: Most spells and charms of these sort are easy, but even the simplest magic won’t work if you don’t believe. I know I sound like a Peter Pan character, but it’s true. Trust me, magic is anything but easy.

JAD: From what I heard you do, it seems like a lot more than just working with plants and candles.

STEPHEN: How do I put this... Magic is hard and magic asks a lot of people. If you're gonna do it, it's gonna task you and toll you beyond all recognition in the end. Either you're going to change, or the way people see you is going to change, and they way you interact with the world is going to change. Magic is going to hurt you.

[CUTS BACK TO THE INTERVIEW.]

ROBERT: And then?

STRANGE: I went to a library and read every book I could find about magic and spells. The rest is obvious, I studied and practiced my magic and, with a lot of time and effort, I cleaned out the building, protected it and made it into my own. 

ROBERT: Could you go into more detail?

STRANGE: A magician never reveals his secrets. 

ROBERT: [LAUGHER] Of course, forgive me. 

STRANGE: I can tell you one thing. None of this would have been possible if I hadn’t accepted the kindness of one man. I won’t say his name... things are complicated between us at the moment, but I owe so much to his help. I think I would be dead without him.

ROBERT: And now you’re returning his kindness to the rest of the city.

STRANGE: I don’t think I can be as good as him, but I’m trying.

ROBERT: Now, let’s discuss how social media has made you into the landmark of The Village you are today.

STRANGE: I have something else I would like to discuss.

ROBERT: By all means.

STRANGE: The ‘Can’t Buy A Thrill’ album from Steely Dan, 1972. It’s great.

ROBERT: That seems... very off topic.

STRANGE: I know, but I don’t like talking about my success anymore. 

  
  


~*~

  
  


Wong took off his earbud before he could hear anything else, and instead pressed his hands to his face in frustration, sighing audibly.

Zelma didn’t say anything and paused the episode, looking at her friend with worry. Neither of them spoke at all, just allowed Wong to wallow in his self-pity before adjusting himself with his back against the seat again. 

Zelma didn’t offer a comforting hand, nor did she try to sugarcoat the situation. She was realistic, honest, and wasn’t going to allow his friend to delve deeper into a hole of self-hatred. 

“I can listen to the rest later.” She placed her phone back in her pocket. Wong looked like he was pretending that this wasn’t affecting him, that the kind words Stephen had admitted in the public radio weren’t making him feel better.

She was so tired of watching him pine after this guy. Wong deserved happiness, even if it came from some weird, unattractive magician.

“You should go talk to him.” She finally said, checking her watch to see just how many minutes she had left before her shift started.

Wong shook his head, “No, we... Our break is almost over. I can do it tomorrow.”

She stopped him before he stood up. “Dude, listen to me. You need to stop trying ignoring the situation. Talk to him! He’s your  _ friend, _ he cares about you so much. And I need you two to talk so he’ll stop passing by the library all the time when you’re not around to ask me how you’re doing, it’s getting annoying!”

Her words don’t seem to offend Wong, he cracked a sad smile. “Have I been that obvious?”

“Look, I know I’m not good with talking about these sort of things. But after all that happened with your loss, I think this is a good step towards moving on. She would have wanted you to be happy. You’re not going to forget her if you stop grieving, you’ll just... keep going. For her.” 

After finishing her speech, Zelma sank into her seat, expecting Wong to get angry at the mention of his wife. Before it happened, he never lost his temper in front of his co-workers, but they were being so nosy, and he ended up telling them to fuck off and swearing in chinese. Being slightly scared of Wong was part of the reason she never spoke about it, to be honest.

But her friend only stared back at her with slight shock that left quickly, and was replaced by a his usual calmer, stoic expression. “Has anyone ever told you that you should give more advice?”

“All the time. Go!” She rushed him out before he could stall anything else. Wong grabbed his things and rushed out the door without a second thought. 

“I’ll make Susan take your shift!” She yelled out, watching him run away from view.

Zelma glanced at the plate Wong had left behind and realized that she’ll have to pay for it as well.

“Fuck.” 

She was never inviting anyone for lunch out of pity again.

 

~*~

 

One taxi drive later, Wong arrived at Greenwich Village trying to figure out what the hell he was going to say to the man when he saw him again. He didn’t remember the last time he went so long without talking to Stephen. Usually, the times he went to the Sanctum were because Stephen asked for his help with some sort of danger, or just to spend time together when he somehow knew that Wong wasn’t feeling at his best.

He wondered if Stephen knew he was pacing outside his home right now, and was reading his tarot cards with a grin of his face. Wong clenched his fists and went to knock on the door, the pattern that Stephen had told him to knock to let him know it was a him, when he noticed there was a note taped to the door.

When he ripped it off to read it, another identical one appeared in it’s place. 

_ To whom it may interest, _

_ I, Doctor Strange, will not be available for the next two months. I am currently in Nepal studying methods of magic that no book or website could contain. I hope to return right after my training. All appointments will be postponed until then. Do not attempt to solve any magical problems yourself without previous experience, especially if it is extremely serious. If it’s urgent, feel free to email me at  _ [ _ sanctumupdates@strange.com _ ](mailto:sanctumupdates@strange.com) _.  _

_ Blessed be, New York City _

_ Doctor Stephen Strange _

The note was written in an old fashioned typewriter, and the paper felt old. Possibly recycled by Stephen himself. 

Wong sighed, feeling miserable again. He had deleted Stephen’s number from his phone out of spite, he might as well have to send him an... email. It felt so impersonal and distant, it wasn’t how he wanted to apologize at all. 

He crumpled the note in his hands, just to end up with a small papercut on the tip of his finger. The librarian hissed in frustration and dropped the now blood stained note to the ground.

Wong pressed the cut to his lips and cleaned it off, then wiped it on his jeans, slightly disgusted. He’ll have to clean them thoroughly once he gets home. 

When he glanced at the note, he noticed that words were appearing on the paper that he had somehow ignored before. He bent over to pick it up again, uncrumpling it to find more words on the back.

‘ _ Stephen, you clever idiot _ ’, he thought to himself, and began to read.

_ Wong, _

_ Before you ask how I know you’re reading this, I imbued all no  tes with a special ink that only reacts to your essence. So if you decide to bleed, piss, spit, sweat or cum on this piece of paper, you will  _ _~~instan~~ _ _ instantly see this. Hopefully you just sweat on it.  _

_ I know you will try and come to visit me, but this was an oppo rtunity I just couldn’t miss. I’m sorry, I wish I  _ ~~_ c co _ ~~ _ could have brought you with me. I miss you, my dear friend, and I believe we both owe each other some apologies. _

_ If you wish to talk, I’m including my num ber below. Yes,  I kn ow you deleted it. And yes, I should stop  _ ~~_ pred _ ~~ _ predicting your actions, I’m sorry for that as well. _

_ Very best wishes, and blessed be. _

_ Ste phen Strange _

 

The note had multiple words scratched out and was written with a jagged, forceful handwriting, no more different than the one of a child who just learned how to hold a pencil. It must have taken him a great deal of effort to write the letter -- with ink, no less. 

Wong saved the number on his phone and folds the paper up neatly, regretting the fact that he so hastily dropped it earlier. 

As he started to think of what would be a proper text for this situation, he could only think of Imei. It felt like betrayal -- it shouldn’t, it wasn’t. But he shouldn’t be this desperate to talk with a man he’s  _ fond  _ of just a month and a half after his wife died.

No, Stephen could wait. He was probably busy scouring the Himalayas, or whatever westerners do in Asia for “enlightenment”. 

He was getting angry again, at both himself and at Stephen. If the man was here, he would blame the cosmos and the moon cycle. Wong preferred getting angry at people, not ideas.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, walking to the nearest station and supermarket. Today, he will cook something for himself. He will meditate and breathe. He will try to start living again.

He will talk to Stephen, Imei would have wanted him to do so.

  
  


~*~

  
  


Wong stared at his phone, reading what he had typed out over and over and wondering what exactly was the social protocol in this situation.

Truth be told, he didn’t have any close friends before Stephen. Zelma and him were friendly co-workers beforehand, but their interests, ages and personalities were too different for it to become an actual friendship. Wong had Imei, he was contempt being her friend and husband. 

This was also the first time he had sent an apology text at one in the morning. To say that he felt like a regretful ex-boyfriend wouldn’t be entirely incorrect.

**Hello, it’s Wong. We need to talk.**

He frowned at his screen. No, he sounded like an angry mother. Wong tapped the  _ back _ key and tried something else.

**Hello, it’s Wong. Are you free right now?**

Still too uptight. 

**Hey :)**

Just writing the smiley face made him feel like an idiot. He deleted it immediately and typed the first thing that came to his mind, too tired to care anymore. 

**Hello, it’s Wong. I stopped by the Sanctum and read the note directed to me. And I listened to the interview you did. I want to say that I’m sorry for calling selfish, and for trying to hit you. It was out of line and I wasn’t thinking straight. You were only trying to help, my actions were uncalled for and I want to apologize for them. What happened to Imei wasn’t your fault.**

Wong hit  _ send  _ without a second thought, and tried to calm himself with a swig of tea. He stared at his statue of Buddha that sat on his bookshelf. It smiled back reassuringly.

**_you definitely seem like the sort of guy to listen to podcasts. did you like it?_ **

**That wasn’t what I wanted to talk about.**

**_i was hoping that we wouldn’t actually have to talk about anything. we could skim it over like men usually do and move on._ **

**You and I both know that we don’t act like men “usually do”.**

**_I'm sorry._ **

**_For everything I did. I know I am not to blame, but I can’t help but feel guilty about her death. You loved her, deeply, it didn’t take a reading or a spell to know that. You have every right to be angry with me._ **

 

Wong hovered his fingers over the screen for a moment. He wished Stephen was there, speaking to him so he could see what he felt as he apologized. But now they were separated by thousands of miles with only words to get a point across.

**She would not have wanted me to be angry at you. Neither do I anymore.**

**_that’s good. i’m sure she’s watching over us with a smile on her face. perhaps a grin._ **

**Like an angel?**

**_i was thinking more in the means that her energy was now protecting us and keeping our fates intertwined._ **

**_but yeah, an angel isn’t a bad word for it._ **

**That sounds lovely.**

**I should stop texting you now, our international fees should be thought the roof.**

**_nope, i hexed my phone so it believes i’m still in new york all the time._ **

**_i hacked it with magic._ **

**Is that why you can somehow afford an IPhone without any money?**

**_maybe. it’s really easy to get a cheap new cell phone with the right connections._ **

**_being homeless for a few months gets you in touch with very interesting people._ **

Wong shook his head, trying to feel disappointed in the man’s choices but he could only feel a warmth in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He shook it away, and glanced at the ring on his finger. One of these days he should figure out what he wants to do with it.  

His phone vibrated, pulling his from his train of thought. Stephen typed slowly, his disability made it difficult to type on a touch screen. Wong had seen it up close and always had to be patient when texting him. Not that it was often, though.

**_you should go to sleep. it’s late over there, i memorized the time difference. i’m free again in three days, i’ll be fasting and meditating with some monks during that._ **

**_good night, my friend. remember that you can always use that sleeping chant i taught you._ **

 

He replied with a simple  _ good night  _ and put his phone away. The spell was a simple one, all he needed was a candle and the sound of his own voice. He had taught it to Imei as well, who would cuddle behind him and chant it playfully into his ear. Wong sighed at the memory and at the empty bed. Yeah, he really needed to rest.

_ “Spirits of the Night, Help me this week,”  _ He began, making his way to his bed. _ “Spirits of the Night, Help me gain sleep.” _

The mattress felt cold, empty and spacious as always, but tonight he managed to ignore it. He closed his eyes, chanting the spell Stephen had taught him like a mantra, until he felt his body grow heavy with sleep. 

In his dream, he imagined Stephen behind him, whispering the same words into his ear. The magic in the man’s hands burned his skin; they settled on his waist then moved lower. Lower, lower, until trembling fingers slipped underneath his clothes.

Wong jolted awake hours later, sweating -- with underwear ruined in a way he hasn’t experienced since he was a teenager. He covered his face with his palms and sobbed. 

The room was quiet, the sounds of the street below that he had become accustomed to were suddenly too loud. 

He decided that it was best not to use that mantra anymore, he’ll just buy some sleeping pills.

  
  


~*~

 

Days pass and, sure enough, Stephen texted him during the day, probably midnight in Kathmandu. 

Wong was at the front desk of the library updating some information when he heard his phone ding next to him. Usually, he would ignore it until the end of his shift, but that only lasted a few minutes before he gave in and checked Stephen’s message.

He took a sip of his tea as he unlocked his phone, and almost spat it out when he saw what Stephen sent him. No tea was spilled, but it was likely he let out a fairly loud swear. A mother who was reading with her child glared at him, Wong cleared his throat and glanced at the screen again.

It was a picture of Stephen had taken of himself, camera facing a mirror. He was half naked, the only thing covering him up was a simple monk’s robe, probably lent to him by the monastery he was in, that sat low on his hips. Stephen seemed skinnier than usual, Wong could see scattered bruises, scars and could faintly make out his rib cage. It was captioned with the words ‘ _ this is what fasting does to you. worth it, thought. i was meditating the entire time and it was a beautifully difficult experience’,  _ that included a smiling emoticon.

Wong pressed the phone to his forehead and let out a long suffering sigh. He wasn’t having a crisis because Stephen was a man, he was having a crisis because Stephen was a man he had been attracted to since  _ before _ Imei’s passing. And now either the man was teasing him, or he was simply that tactless. Or both.

Imei would laugh at the picture, possibly deem it as flirtatious. She always had a better sense about those sort of things. 

Which is why she would so often tease him about his “man-crush” on his friend. Deep down, she probably knew. Perhaps she wouldn’t have been adverse to it, but there was no way to be sure now. 

Wong collected himself and typed out a quick me text telling Stephen that he was working at the moment, but was happy that Stephen was having a good time.

Hopefully that would give him some time to work in peace.

The following days continued just so. Wong received messages at odd hours of the day, when either he or Stephen should have been sleeping, with updates on what the man was up to. And pictures, lots of them. Almost all of the pictures seemed to be slightly shaky, as Stephen hands can no longer stay perfectly still. Some were of the distant mountains, others of children and monks that he met. Some were of himself -- he had the scraggly beard he used to have when they met, and his hair was growing long again. Hopefully he’ll clean himself up once he comes back to the city.

Wong made sure to save every last picture. They were in a separate album on his phone, next to the ones Imei used to send him of herself or of dogs she would see and pet on her way home. 

Scrolling through both of the albums set his mind at ease, which was usually buzzing with stress and annoyance at this time of the year. Students were coming in now more than ever for public records, old newspaper information and anything they might need for end of the semester projects. Teenagers irritated him, to say the least.

**They’re loud. And they continue to bring in food even if it’s very clear we don’t allow it.**

He allowed himself to text Stephen during his lunch hour, slightly ranting about work. Wong didn’t expect a response, it should be about four in the morning in Nepal.

Nevertheless, Stephen responded just moments later.

**_I would agree with what you just said, but typing it out makes me feel like an old man who hates anyone younger than him._ **

**We are both old men.**

**_we’re both 40_ ** **!**

**When I was eighteen, that seemed old to me.**

**_What were you like when you were 18?_ **

He hadn’t thought about his youth in a long time. It wasn’t exactly a great one, but it wasn’t terrible either. He was mostly preoccupied with school, martial arts classes, and taking care of his family. He never saw the point in dating beyond curious flings because he already was assured that he would have to marry Imei.

**I was exactly the same.**

**Except I had very long hair.**

**_i would have loved to see that. i was a stereotypical nerd as a teen, didn’t get bullied much but i was too busy studying to really care that much about being popular._ **

Stephen always seemed so collected and suave with clients who were attracted to him. Wong had seen it first hand, and would roll his eyes whenever the witch made an old lady blush or a teenage boy gawk at him and question what he was into. He can’t imagine Stephen as a nerd at all.

**You can, once you come back. I have an album.**

**_:)_ **

**Why exactly are you up at this hour? It feels like you haven’t slept since you arrived at Kathmandu.**

**_i haven’t, at least not properly. i’m pushing my body to the extremes in hopes to grow stronger. i’m purifying my body and my soul._ **

**_i purified it especially well earlier. today i learned never to eat old goat cheese, i’ve been puking all day. a monk made me some tea, but it was hell._ **

Wong couldn’t help but laugh into his chai. It had been so long since he felt a genuine chuckle escape his lips. 

On a whim, he took a picture of himself, still sipping from his cup, and sent it to his friend. 

**Still better than starbucks.**

Stephen replied with laughing emoticon, then sent a quick text that he had to go. Hopefully it was to sleep, but knowing the man he was most likely going to pour over some books or walk around Kathmandu to watch the sunrise.

His break was almost ending, he made his way back to the library with a small smile on his face. Zelma was at the desk when he walked in, and at the sight of her friend not looking completely miserable, she gave him a sly grin.

“Still texting magic boy?” She whispered at him, moving her seat so he can sit beside her. 

Wong hid the lightness in his heart behind a frown that Zelda didn’t take seriously. She didn’t ask him anything else about the situation anymore, chatting softly with Wong instead. It was a mostly one-sided conversation, she was complaining about her roommate. Wong nodded occasionally, but was lost in his own thoughts, wondering what Stephen was doing, idly playing with the ring on his finger that he still hasn’t taken off.

  
  


~*~

  
  


It wasn’t until Stephen decided to surprise him in the middle of the day with his appearance that Wong noticed that the man never actually told him when he would come back.

He’s glad Stephen chose to show up at an uneventful time during his shift because, once he did catch sight of him, all the blood rushed to his face, and Zelma had to elbow him in the arm until he realized he was blatantly staring.

The witch waltzed in with a grin on his face, immediately going to the desk to greet his friend. 

Stephen bowed as if he had forgotten that most people in New York shook their hands. It was almost infuriating. He looked incredibly handsome, his beard was shaved and trimmed to a fitting goatee. He wore a tight, black turtleneck and a necklace that held a large  eye shaped pendant Wong had not seen before. He had other accessories, like his newly pierced ears and rings on almost every finger, a few bracelets that looked handmade out of string and beads, and some thick yet elegant winged eyeliner just to top it all off. He glanced down and, oh god, he was wearing a knee length red skirt with black leggings covering his legs. And boots, really dirty ones at that.    
  
"Wong, my dear friend, it's so nice to see you again." Stephen said with a hand on his chest, smiling. "It has been a long time, hasn't it?"

Wong collected himself and nodded, “Yes. Yes it has.” He scanned his eyes up and down Stephen’s new outfit again. “When did you come back?”

“About two days ago. I had a very important private appointment, a rich man from the Upper East Side whose daughter kept having prophetic dreams. They insisted on paying even when I told them not to, so I took the money and decided to use some to make myself look presentable.” Stephen explained, with an imperial smile on his face. The man liked to pretend he had gotten rid of his ego, but there were still remnants of overconfidence in his looks. Wong didn’t blame him. 

“Well, you look... very presentable.” The librarian said simply.

“Thank you.” Stephen bowed a bit once more.

He’d forgotten Zelma was behind him, watching their conversation with a smirk on her face. After realizing that an awkward silence was starting to form in the air, she spoke up. “His shift ends at six, in case you were wondering.”

Stephen raised an eyebrow, but looked a bit amused by the ordeal.

“I can speak for myself, you know.” Wong whispered through his teeth.

Zelma chuckled, “You seemed a bit tongue tied at the moment.”

Stephen rested against the desk and laced his hands together. Wong noticed his nails were painted black. “May we meet up at ten for a drink, then? Not you Zelma.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, I don’t hang out to drink with old guys.”

“Of course you don’t,” The witch replied, then looked at Wong with a glint in his eye. “We’ve never had a proper drink before. Just a calm, night out. I know the perfect bar.”

Wong hasn’t been drinking in ages, much less to a bar. It wasn’t his ideal place to  _ hang out  _ in, but if Stephen was offering...

“Sure, I’ll call you when I’m ready.” 

The witch leaned back and smiled, “Don’t worry, I’ll know when you’re ready. I’ll pick you up at your apartment.”

With that, the witch waved goodbye as he walked away, leaving Wong with something to look forward to, and Zelma with something to tease him with. 

Probably not today, thought. Wong seemed happy these last few days, she didn’t want to take it away with too much teasing.  _ Zelma, you’re growing soft,  _ she thought to herself.

Wong wasn’t smiling anymore, but he felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Some sort of worry of Stephen’s well being he didn’t realize was so strong. He toyed with his ring as he typed away, quietly counting down the hours until it was night time.

As it turned out, Stephen had not been joking about knowing exactly when he was ready. 

He had gone straight home after his shift ended, saying his goodbyes to Zelma and quietly ignoring Susan, as per usual. He swept and ordered out his apartment out of habit, something he always did at least twice a week, then changed. Part of him kept pondering on what to wear, as if he was some sort of teenager going on a date, but Wong just chose something simple. A long sleeved shirt, a thin jacket, and a pair of pants. The instant he put on his last shoe, he heard a knock on the door.

Wong felt that he should be more shocked that Stephen was this exact about his timing, possibly by peeking into what he was doing with his third eye, or something of the sort, but he didn’t care at this point. He unlocked the door and, sure enough, Stephen was standing with the same outfit he had this morning trying to hide his glowing, clairvoyant eyes.

“Oh, hello.” He blinked once, twice, and they were gone, back to his regular grey eyes. Wong rolled his own. 

“Were you watching me while I changed?”

Stephen ignored him and didn’t spare the man any time to pick up his keys and wallet. He waved a wrist and the items flew directly to his hand, then handed them to Wong as they made their way out the door. “Come on, I can’t wait to show you the bar we’re going to. It’s not too far.”

They walked together to the subway station and sat next to each other on their train. One glance was all it took for Wong to not only feel ridiculously ordinary compared to his friend, but he also wondered how Stephen managed to put on eyeliner so well with his shaking hands.

“I have to levitate the brush and do it very carefully. It took a lot of practice.” Stephen interrupted his thoughts. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to read your thoughts. I won’t anymore, I promise.”

Wong made sure to remind himself to keep his mind at bay for the rest of the night. He thought about cats instead as they walked side by side on the sidewalk in comfortable silence.

Until Stephen took his arm and led him down an alleyway that seemed exactly like the sort people should always avoid, unless you wanted to buy meth. 

“Uh --”

“Sh, don’t attract any attention.” The witch looked around for anyone who might see them and pressed his hands against the wall of the building in front of them.

A green light started to radiate from his palms until the grit between each brick started to glow, forming a rectangle of light, just tall and wide enough to fit as a door.

Stephen walked through it as if he was a ghost, then disappeared. Seconds later, one of his hands emerged through the still glowing bricks, beckoning him to follow. Wong did just so. 

Once he went in, he found himself in a dimly lighted bar that looked like it could have belonged in the twenties. Except there were floating shot glasses and beer bottles making their way to the trash can or to the tables that had ordered them. Candles adorned the entire place and seemed to dance along to the jazz music that played in the background. A ghost was their bartender and, judging from the way the dressed, Wong started to think the ghost man was  _ actually _ from the 1920’s.

“Welcome to the Bar with No Doors.” Stephen smiled at him and walked to what seemed to be his usual seat. “I still think they could workshop the name.”

Wong stared around him, still trying to get used to the place. “Do you come here often?”

“Sometimes, yeah. I usually don’t drink that much, I come here to made deal and connections. Sometimes just to unwind as well. Witches and sorcerers from everywhere cone here and are only allowed to bring one guest at a time, I thought you might enjoy it.”

“I don’t... drink that much.” Wong admitted 

Stephen just winked at him, “Good. We won’t spend that much money on drinks, then. What do you like?”

Seconds later, the witch yelled out for a glass of scotch and three shots of tequila that quickly flew on their own to their table, not spilling a single drop.

Wong stared at his glass of scotch, an indulgence he only ever allowed himself to have on special occasions or on days that were far too stressful to bear, and clinking his glass with Stephen’s. They both took a swing of his respective drinks and both grimaced at the taste.

Their formerly comfortable silence was starting to become awkward. The faint jazz music was just loud enough to save it, but Stephen started to fumble with his rings. 

“How was your time in Nepal?” Wong asked, trying to fill in the silence.

“It was wonderful. Difficult, rigorous, sometimes painful, but wonderful. Wasn’t so much about learning new magical techniques as it was more of a... spiritual experience. Along with martial arts training. Magic requires a lot of sacrifice to your body and mind, it only made sense I should exercise those two things with the people who know best.” 

He definitely exercised his body, Stephen’s arms were were now built enough that they were slightly straining against the fabric of his turtleneck. He seemed completely different from the frail, starving man he had met almost a year ago.

Stephen continued, “Have you ever gone?”

“Years ago, when I was young. I have some family there, actually.” His grip on his glass tightened, he didn’t want to actually think of his family right now.

The witch noticed his discomfort, but he had promised not to read his mind. Hopefully he didn’t learn about how disappointed they were that Imei died before she could bear any children, not actually sparring much thought for her life. Their conversation over the phone had lead to Wong telling them to practically  _ fuck off _ for the first time in his life. It didn’t feel good, but it didn’t feel bad either. He had not talked to them since. 

“Stephen... may I ask you something?” Wong said, changing the subject. 

His friend leaned closer to him from across the table, “Of course.”

“You mentioned you had a wife as well, before all of this.” He chose his words carefully, but he needed to know about this. It was important to Wong. “May I ask what she’s like? What happened?”

It was Stephen’s turn to look visibly taken aback by the question. He didn’t have the heart to pass it, though.  

“Clea is generous, kind and strong. She is radiant and beautiful. She was perfect for me -- I was the opposite.” Stephen took a second shot of tequila before he continued, he already seemed light-headed from just that. As Wong continued to drink his scotch, he felt the same effect too. 

“I cheated on her a couple of times, she got fed up of me and rightfully left. I ignored her because of my job, too caught up in being a doctor to worry about what she was feeling. You were right, she left because of my selfish bullshit.”

Wong placed a hand on the table. “Strange, I never meant--”

“Don’t. It’s... it’s fine. I’m over it now, it’s still hard to talk about.” Stephen set his hand over Wong’s as if it was the most logical thing to do. 

“You aren’t a bad man, Stephen.” 

His friend stared to the side at the candle that hovered just a few inches over their table as it danced to the now softer music. “I have a lot of regrets, Wong. I want to stop caring about myself so much, I’m trying to learn how to be selfless.”

His large, trembling hands settled against Wong’s smaller and steady ones. Two halves of one whole, as the poets could say. They didn’t hold each other, unsure of what the further implications were if they actually held hands, through any barriers between them seemed to slip away the more drinks they ordered. Or maybe they had already been breaking down piece by piece for a long time, and this was their final tipping point.

“We can discuss something else,” Wong thought for a moment. He was going through his second glass, this time of whiskey, and his voice started to slur as the spoke. “Why all the rings?”

That made Stephen smile again. “Same reason I painted my nails, I wanted to make my hands look nicer.”

“Your hands are already quite nice to look at.” A thumb grazed over Stephen’s palm. “Still, this suits you.”

“Does it?” The witch held Wong’s hand as well as he could, his grip growing stronger with every word.

“It makes you look more mysterious and alluring, isn’t that what you want?” With his free hand, Wong gestured to all the other people around them. Most were dressed in clothes just as or even more accessorized and unusual as Stephen. “I have only ever worn one ring in my life.”

Stephen moved his hand aside until he saw Wong’s ring glint from the candle’s light. He had no idea how to respond to that.

Instead of allowing a heavy silence to fill the room, Wong chuckled and Started to take off his ring. His cheeks were tinged pink from the alcohol in his system. “I don’t need this anymore.” He set it safely aside on their table. “When we go back to my apartment, I’m keeping it somewhere else.”

The sly grin that was so often plastered on Stephen's face returned. He took his fourth shot of tequila. “What makes you think we’re  _ both  _ going back to your place?”

Just then, Wong realized what he said and shook his head. He should probably stop drinking his third glass, but he chugged what was left of it anyway. “No-- _ shit _ . Sorry, I got confused.” 

“The Sanctum is bigger, anyway. You... can crash at my place for the night.” Stephen gestured his hands apart to explain just how big his house was. “It’s this big. Very big, lots of rooms for you to sleep in.”

Wong took the man’s hands and pressed them together. “The Sanctum can’t be  _ that  _ small. That’s barely big enough to fit a dog.”

It took a moment for him to understand the joke, but Stephen snorted in laughter once he did. “A sanctum for ants!”

Wong didn’t understand the reference.

Once Stephen settled from laughing, so infectious that it managed to get Wong as well, he rested his cheek against his hand. His cheeks were pink, plush lips red from biting them and from a fruity red drink he ordered on a whim. His half-lidded eyes stared at Wong. Moments passed, the librarian averted his gaze, but he could see see the smirk that started to form on Stephen’s lips as he noticed Wong was blushing as well.

They spoke about work, about Nepal, about Zelma, laughing and staring at each other as the hours passed by like clouds. A cuckoo bird carved to look like a raven said that it was now three in the morning.

The witch stood up and stumbled until he sat next in the seat beside Wong. He leaned into his ear, as if he was telling him a secret, which was unnecessary seeing as the music was loud enough that no one would notice. Though, he supposed sorcerers were better at hearing secrets than others. 

“Do you want to go now?” Stephen said into his ear, Wong could hear the smile in his voice. 

He felt one of Stephen’s hands rest on his thigh, stroking up and down softly,  and Wong was officially done for.  (As if he had not already been for the past month.) A soft kiss was pressed against his jaw, he could feel a few of the other sorcerers in the bar glance at them. 

Wong took the red, fruity drink that Stephen had been ignoring and drank what was left of it. Stephen chuckled, still tipsy and still resting against him. 

The librarian stood up abruptly, holding Stephen by his arm to help him do the same. “We both should get home and drink some... water.” Wong said, his accent felt a bit stronger. Stephen nodded and dumped a few dollars, coins, and two small animal bones on the ghost bartender’s counter. 

“Wait, how do we get out of here?” Wong asked, his head hurt a bit.

Stephen hiccuped, took both of Wong’s hands and pressed them against the brick wall. It started to glow again, then pushed him into it. With a final wave to the other sorcerers in the bar, Stephen tripped into the glowing wall.

They both fell on the ground in the middle of one of the Sanctum’s hallways. Stephen had unfortunately made the wall a feet feet higher than the ground, but neither of them could bring themselves to care. 

“My room is--uh, over here.” He sauntered to the end of the hallway. Wong followed along, taking off his shoes by the door out of habit and placing them next to the door. Stephen did the same with his boots but threw them against the wall. Just then, Wong realized that this was the first time he had stepped into his friend’s bedroom. 

If Stephen’s entire personality could be reflected into a space, it would be this room. Pots hung from the ceiling, growing herbs, flowers and plants that Wong often saw him use in his potions. Books were scattered all across the floor in different piles in a way that made his librarian heart hurt. Charms, gemstones and different jewelry were hung up on a section of the wall, organized in a way that Wong would probably never understand. 

He barely noticed that Stephen was helping him off his jacket. He barely breathed when Stephen pressed a soft kiss against his lips that tasted like cherry and alcohol. Wong didn’t move when his friend pulled away, only stared back with his lips slightly parted.

The witch placed his hand on Wong’s chest and sighed, “Sorry.” He mumbled. “Is this too soon?” 

Wong replied by kissing back, pulling Stephen closer by grabbing the fabric of his turtleneck. The witch’s hands on his chest felt like electricity dancing around his skin, as if Stephen was overwhelmed with magic and emotion just from a single kiss. He wondered exactly how long the man has gone without prolonged human contact.

“ _ Wong.” _

It quickly became desperate and heated, tongues sliding against each other, Stephen already let out a soft gasp into his mouth just from this. “The bed...” He whispered, but wouldn’t let go of him. Instead, he pulled his friend by his shirt and giggled when Wong landed on top of him. “Better, much better.” Stephen didn’t waste any time trying to take off his belt. 

“You’re very eager.” Wong moved his hands aside, seeing as he was struggling to work the buckle, and did it himself. Stephen decided to preoccupy himself by taking off all the rings and bracelets he was wearing, as well as his turtleneck.

“I’m not eager, I’m desperate. I’ve wanted this for so long.” He ran his fingers over the front of Wong’s pants and licked his lips. “Do you know how often I dreamt about this?”

The idea that Stephen would actually fantasize and lust over him seemed unbelievable--but there Wong was, allowing the man to palm him, unzip his pants, and happily lower them without wasting a single second.

“You dreamt about this?” Wong ran his fingers through Stephen’s hair. The witch whimpered quietly at the touch.

Every word that escaped his lips were breathy and low, painstakingly formed as he tried to regain himself. “Yes, often. Usually you were fucking me on the floor, or against the wall. On the kitchen counter.” He drags his hands from his stomach to his thighs, hitching up the end of his skirt inch by inch.

Wong switched back to mandarin and swore under his breath.

The front of Stephen’s skirt began to tent with his erection and Wong pushed him gently back against the mattress to see him.

He didn’t resist, Stephen was wonderfully pliant and surprisingly submissive for such a stubborn and outspoken man. Wong lifted up the front of his skirt and widened his eyes, taking in the sight in front of him.

His chest was flushed, a deeper pink than his cheeks. Without the turtleneck he had been wearing, Wong could admire the muscle that the man had gained, along with scattered cuts and bruises from his training that hadn’t properly healed yet. Sparse hair went down his abdomen to his navel, until Wong eyed the man’s fully hard, leaking cock that was being held in place by a pair of black boxer briefs. The tights that he thought Stephen was wearing turned out to just be thigh-highs. 

“Enjoying the view?” Stephen teased, running his under his friend’s shirt.

His erection throbbed in his pants when Stephen spoke. He was ignoring it, it could wait for a while seeing as just the sight of this man alone reduced him to panting in seconds.

Wong didn’t answer. He pressed kisses to Stephen’s inner thigh, which made the man beneath him arch ever so slightly and gasp. 

Sex with Stephen felt very different to anything he did with Imei. It had nothing to do with their gender, or what parts they had. Wong just wasn’t used to having a submissive and, dare he say,  _ lazy  _ partner. Stephen was simply watching him as he pressed a finger to his hole, coated in lube that was hidden on his bedside drawer at all times. He whimpered pitifully at the touch, it had been so long since someone touched him there. A  _ please _ escaped his throat and he smiled, head thrown back and eyes closed, when he finally felt filled.  

Imei preferred to ride him, placing each of her hands on his chest and giggling when Wong would moan louder than her. They would come together and hold each other until their panting subsided. It was fairly simple, comfortable. 

Having sex with Stephen Strange was like trying to deal with an attention starved kitten who was constantly asking, or begging, for what he wanted. He had no concept of what it was like to be  _ too loud _ , it made Wong thankful that the Sanctum was so big and empty, and no one could hear Stephen whimper as Wong stroked his cock as if it had been the first handjob the man had ever received.

Stephen  was on all fours now, and they were both completely nude save for the thigh-highs that Wong refused to take off of him. Another cold finger pressed against Stephen’s entrance to stretch him open. The man wasn’t as tight as Wong expected him to be. 

Wong mentioned this in a soft voice. The witch shuddered, “I can’t use my hands that much for getting off... I just use t-toys.” 

Deciding that he very much enjoyed the sound of Stephen’s voice when he was trembling with need, Wong continued. He replenished the lubricant on his fingers often so that the back of his thighs would shine from it, and so obscene, wet noises were brought with every movement of Wong’s fingers. “Did you use a toy before you picked me up? Were you expecting this? Predicted it?” 

Stephen nodded and licked his lips. “Yeah.”

Wong hooked a finger underneath one of the thigh-highs and pulled back, letting go until it smacked against Stephen’s skin. It was soft, but the man seemed to enjoy it. “Did you predict what I’ll do next now?”

“N-No, but I have a pretty good idea.”

“Good.” Wong said and pulled out his fingers. Before he heard any sort of whine, he pressed his cock against Stephen’s hole and sank deep into his heated flesh. 

By the looks of it, Stephen had definitely not predicted that. It took him a moment to readjust, spreading his legs wider. Wong ran a comforting hand over Stephen’s back before burying it in the man’s hair. Wong pulled back until he was balls deep inside him, and enjoyed the sob that escaped his friend.

He should probably stop using the word  _ friend _ when referring to someone he was fucking.

Despite barely moving since they started, Stephen’s back was sweaty, trembling every time Wong moved in and out of him in a slow, steady pace. Stephen’s hole clenched and tried to keep him inside for a bit longer, but Wong enjoyed his desperateness. He hand his hands over Stephen’s toned abdomen and pecs, toying with a nipple with his thumb.

He felt Stephen tighten around him once more, making Wong groan against his shoulder blades. Neither of them would be be able to last any longer. After so much time of pent up tension, it was only natural that the slow pace Wong had tried to keep up would crumble down in a matter of minutes; he was now pinning Stephen to the mattress and thrusting without abandon. The man beneath him was talking, constantly swearing and begging for more. Wong couldn’t focus on the words, he continued to move at his rushed pace only just then realizing that Stephen was moving his hips as well to hump against the bed sheets. 

Feeling a tinge of pity, Wong reached down and stroked him in a fast, hurried motion. Stephen had dripped so much pre-cum that lube wasn’t even necessary. 

“Wong. I’m going to--” He clenched his teeth before he could finish that sentence because Wong had pulled out as he said it. Stephen was about to protest in frustration; a soft, calloused hand tapped his shoulder and helped him move until he had his back against the mattress. “Wong!”

The librarian coated Stephen’s now wide, red hole with lube again, and sank his cock back where it was supposed to be. They both groaned, almost reaching their tipping point. 

“I want to see you,” Wong breathed out. He nibbled the other man’s jaw, leaving the bit of skin red enough to last a day or two, then pressed his lips to Stephen’s again.

This kiss felt nicer than the first. An open mouth, slower kiss that was the complete opposite of his thrusts. Stephen had been gripping the sheets so far, now he wrapped his arms around Wong’s neck to pull his closer. When they weren’t kissing, they were gasping into each other’s mouth. Their lips still tasted faintly of alcohol, but neither of them cared.

“Come inside me,” Stephen said into the corner of Wong’s mouth. “Fill me up -- fuck. I need it, I need it so much.” 

Saying the words out loud alone drove Stephen past the edge, as if the very thought of being filled with semen was all he needed. His entire body clenched, the arms around Wong’s neck pulled him closer, and he came all over both his and his friend’s stomach.

Wong stared down at the pretty picture beneath him. At Stephen’s parted lips and the hands that kept squeezing and playing with his own nipples and he rode out his orgasm, saying Wong’s name _over and over_ like a mantra, until he came inside Stephen just as promised.

He pulled out, ignoring the other man’s whimper, and watched his cum dribble from Stephen’s hole. 

“Wong, oh gods...” He panted out. His new lover was at his side now, still breathless. Stephen moved until they were huddled together. 

“Wait, let me go. I need... I need to clean you up.” Wong freed himself from Stephen’s arms and made his way to the bathroom for a damp towel.

When he came back, he was met with a confused look. He ignored it and cleaned the cum and lube from Stephen’s inner thighs, entrance and cock, as well as anything that might have stayed in his body as well.

“No one’s done that for me before.” Stephen admitted, Wong wasn’t surprised.

“I like taking care of people. Of you.” He admitted back, Stephen visibly calmed down at the words.

“Am I not  _ people _ ?”

Wong chuckled, “One can only wonder.”

They huddled together on the bed under the duvet this time. It only took a few seconds for the afterglow of sex to escape their bodies only to have the dawning realization of what they just did.

Light pooled from the windows and slowly illuminated the room. With it, Wong could see Stephen’s red rimmed eyes. The witch looked down, embarrassed by the outburst he was clearly trying to hide. Wong pressed his hand to Stephen’s cheek and caressed his cheekbone with his thumb. When he glanced at his hand, it looked... off.

_ Oh no. _

“Stephen, my ring.” Wong said in shock and mild horror. “My ring. I left it at the bar...”

The witch pressed a finger to his lips and, before he could start feeling hopeless again, Stephen rummaged through his skirt pockets and handed the golden ring back to him.

“Thank you.” Said Wong quietly. Stephen only nodded and settled the ring into Wong’s finger. It was a simple, kind gesture, but it spoke volumes.

“I couldn’t just leave it there -- even my drunk self knew that. Or else her spirit would somehow come back to haunt us both.”

Laughter filled the room, the danger of any more underlying discomfort now gone. 

“Can she... haunt us?” 

Stephen shook his head, “No. Spirits only stay when they have unfinished business. Imei died at peace.”

Now Wong was the one with red rimmed eyes. Crying wasn’t something he was used to, nor did he wan’t to be. Stephen used the duvet to wipe the few tears that actually managed to stain Wong’s cheeks. “At least she is at peace now.”

“Or frustrated that we’re huge idiots.”

Wong couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “That too, yes.”

The witch scooted closer to Wong, resting his head on his chest. “Do you want me to help you get home? I can call a taxi.”

Wong shook his head before Stephen even finished speaking. “No, I... would rather stay here today, if that’s all right.”

Stephen nodded, melting into Wong’s arms once more. 

The sun was now shining directly at them; Stephen waved a hand in the air to close the shutters. They kissed each other softly, ignoring the distant sounds of the city that escaped through the glass. 

It had been so long since Wong felt this relaxed, so long with Stephen felt this cared for. Without saying it aloud, they both decided to spend the rest of the day in bed. 

At a moment when Stephen wasn’t looking, Wong took off his ring again and set it safely on the bedside table. If the man noticed, he didn’t mention it, he was far too busy pressing his lips against Wong, then lower and lower...

That day, Stephen learned all kinds of colorful terms in mandarin. 


End file.
